


When I Am On Your Shoulders

by Lady_Blackwater



Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Peggy Carter, Awesome Shuri (Marvel), Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Peter Parker, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Divorce, Domestic Bliss, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Growing Up, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Infidelity, Peter Falls In Love With Everyone, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter-centric, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Bucky Barnes, Relationship Problems, Sam Wilson is a Saint, Self-Discovery, Separation Anxiety, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Superfamily (Marvel), Teen Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-30 16:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 165,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Blackwater/pseuds/Lady_Blackwater
Summary: Peter didn't want to think that this year was the worst of his life given he's only sixteen— things could be much worse than his fathers getting a divorce. He can (kinda) deal with the two most important men in his life splitting up, but he hadn't counted on living with his dad Steve, and his new boyfriend for the summer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no business starting a new story when Date Night, Company, and the epilogue to Brother are outside in the cold, banging on my window, begging to be let in, but whatever. Enjoy!

Dumping the contents of his backpack into a trash bin on the last day of school after the last bell is the best feeling Peter Stark has experienced in a while. Kids rush around doing the same thing, laughing, cheering, chatting and celebrating that the year is finally over and summer is upon them.

With a sigh of relief, he turns to his best friend, Ned, and blissfully says, " _Finally_."

Ned grins and disposes of loose papers in his backpack into the trash bin as well. "Tell me about it," he agrees and swoops his backpack straps over his shoulders. "Did you ask your parents if you could go to Flash's end of the year party yet?"

"Not yet, but they have to say yes," Peter assumes, walking side by side with Ned out one of the crowded exit at the end of the nearest hallway. "We're officially seniors. I shouldn't even have to ask at this point, ya know? I should just tell them _'hey, I'm going out.'_ "

"I guess you haven't met your own parents, but you can dream," Ned teases and bumps Peter's elbow with his own.

"Yeah, I know, right?"

"What are you gonna do if they say no?"

"I'm preparing for a no, _but_ I have a solid argument to plead my case." Peter rolls his eyes and smoothly shuffles out of the way for a group of excited freshman to rush by. "Even still - you know how my Dad is. What he says goes no matter how much Pop disagrees."

Ned considers this and quirks an eyebrow upward. "Well, if you can't come, text me and I'll come over so we can get around to finishing _Game of Thrones_."

" _Game of Thrones_ actually sounds so much better than soaking in the arrogant stench of Flash and his stupid party."

Ned and Peter walk to the subway, discussing potential plans for the summer, and hop on the F Train towards Forest Hills.

The train is packed as predicted at this time of day, but neither boys care, and the ride feels shorter than what it really is given Peter takes this route everyday to get to and from school and home.

Peter's stop is first, so he reminds Ned to text him before he exits the train and jogs to his favorite bodega on the last corner before the residential neighborhood begins. The aroma of food sizzling on the grill fills the tiny shop, and Peter considers getting a sandwich before deciding on a pack of gummy worms and a soda.

"How was your last day, my good man?" Mr. Delmar, the friendly, older, Dominican owner of the shop, asks Peter as he rings up his candy and drink.

Peter pulls his wallet out and hands over a five dollar bill. "It was fine."

"You're a senior now, right?"

"Yeah," he answers with a curt nod. "Fully prepared to venture into the best year of my life."

Mr. Delmar eyes the young boy closely and tosses his receipt. "I'm sensing some sarcasm, kid. Everything alright?"

Peter shakes his head; he hates making people worry. He really didn't mean to say that last part.

"There's this end of the year party tonight, and I gotta ask my parents if I can go."

The older man shrugs. "Doesn't seem like such a dilemma to me."

"Yeah, but you know how they can be. Super overprotective and swear off on any kind of fun. I can already hear them saying I can't go."

"Don't assume, kid!" He reasons, but Peter shakes his head.

"Dad is always going on and on about me learning responsibility, and they never allow me to show it cus I'm never allowed to make a single decision without them interfering somehow."

"Aw, Pete," Mr. Delmar starts and waves his hand reassuringly. "It's only 'cus they love you. Cut them some slack! You're their only kid, and it's a big, bad world out there so of course they're gonna be a lil' overprotective."

Peter knows he's right. He chews on a sour gummy thoughtfully.

"And besides, you haven't even asked them yet, so don't assume it's a 'no' off the bat."

Even with that in the back of his mind, Peter walks to his house, dreading the remainder of his afternoon. He finishes the candy and downs it with the soda; he already knows Dad is going to get on him about having so much sugar, but at this point, Peter can't seem to care.

As Peter approaches the porch, he begins thinking of suitable explanations in the event that his parents give him an answer he doesn't want. He knows what it's going to be, but it's not worth it if he doesn't at least ask.

"I'm a senior now. I got straight A's," he mutters to himself as he gets his keys from out of his back pocket and lets himself in. "Flash's parents will be there. This will teach me responsibility. I never go out."

The front door creaks and squeaks when Peter shuts it behind him. The front hallways is clean and smelling of lemon ascents which means maid service had been here earlier.

_Clean house equals happy parents. Perfect!_

"Dad?" Peter calls out and sets his empty backpack in the coat closet, grateful he won't have to see it again for another two months. "Pop?"

At this time of day, the television would be blasting with one of his Pop's dramatic soap operas over the living room while Dad started dinner. Either that or Pop would be on a conference call with the company with Dad in the backyard gardening.

From where Peter is standing in the entryway, he sees through the backdoor that the garden is void of both of his dads, it's silent throughout the first level, and he doesn't smell anything cooking.

Tossing his keys in the key bowl at the entry table and advancing to the living room, he calls out again. "I'm home!"

"We're in here, kiddo!" His dad, Steve, yells from the dining room.

Peter turns on his heels and turns the corner into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. There sitting at the table were his parents sitting catty corner to each other, uncharacteristically silent and stoic in the face as they look up at him.

An unsure chill runs down Peter's spine. "H-h-hey, guys," he stammers under their glares. "What's up?"

His pop, Tony, smiles sweetly but it's unnatural and forced. "How was your last day?"

Peter shrugs. "It was okay," he says and just as the gust of courage to mention the party builds within, his dad gestures to the seat across from him.

"Have a seat, Petey. We need to have a talk."

With a gulp, Peter does as he's told, eyes shooting back and forth between his parents to figure out what the hell is wrong with them. They only ever calls him by that nickname if something is wrong, and the last time they needed to have a "talk" was when they had to discuss the birds and the bees when he was twelve.

"Okay," he mutters and the air is thick with awkwardness. "What do we need to talk about?"

Steve shoots a desperate look to his husband that Tony pretends not to notice, and it's uncomfortable to watch. Peter grimaces, squinting at them with a crease forming between his eyebrows.

Tony exhales into the silence, eyes now casting downward in what Peter can only recognize as shame.

"Before we say anything, buddy, your father and I want you to know that we love you more than _anything_ in this entire world," Steve begins, talking in that irritatingly calm voice that eases all of Peter's nerves whenever he hears it. " _Nothing_ will _ever_ change that _you_ are our greatest creation and accomplishment."

Peter's cheeks burn. "Dad," he exhales, not sure what to say to that.

They've never told him anything like that with such emphasis, and it's scary to say the least.

"What are you—?"

"Just let me finish. I’m telling you this for a reason."

"Okay." Peter's teeth clink when he snaps his jaw shut.

Steve sighs again, side eyeing Tony again, but the other man hasn't looked up from the random spot on the table once since Peter sat down.

"There's not an easy way to tell you this, and it's going to hurt to do so, but it wouldn't be fair to you to be dishonest about everything," Steve continues, looking back to his son. "We've taken every measure possible to save what your father and I have, but a while ago, we came to the mutual decision to split up."

Upon hearing this, Peter scoffs, searching for any signs of joking in both of their expressions. They tend to play pranks on each other and Peter quite a lot, and he wouldn't put it above his fathers to be pulling one right now.

The thing that gets Peter's mind racing is that they'd _never_ kid around about something this serious. They wouldn't - they'd _never_. Neither of them are even close to cracking a smile.

Steve looks almost apologetic to have to be the one to break the news, and Tony's arms are folded tensely across his chest, the expression on his face reading too nonchalant for the subject matter.

His ring isn't on his finger.

If the huge hollowing sensation occurring in Peter's chest didn't indicate his heart breaking and plummeting into his stomach, than he has no clue what it could be.

"Peter, before you jump to any conclusions, you didn't do anything wrong, and just because we couldn't work this out, it doesn't mean we're anything less than your parents," his dad is saying, tapping Tony on the arm to motion that he should jump in.

Tony doesn't look up, but his facial hair moves funnily as he twitches his mouth around as if doing so would make the right words come out.

"Your father is right, kiddo," he finally says, without any emotion or feeling behind it. "This isn't your fault, and we don't love you any less."

The three of them participate in a stare off then.

Peter doesn't know what to say or if he should say anything at all really.

_Was this actually happening?_

Just half an hour ago, he was dreading some damn party and now his entire world is falling apart in pieces too sharp and large for him to grasp onto.

 _This isn't real_ , he tells himself. Other people's parents do this. _Not_ his. _How is this possible?_ They were all so happy just last night when they were cooking and eating dinner right at this table, and now they're _splitting up?_ What did splitting up even mean?

Peter's silence is concerning. Tony narrows his stare to his son and shakes his head regrettably.

"We know this is a lot to take in," he says.

Steve nods in agreement. "We know you have questions. It's okay to talk to us."

Before he knows it, Peter's lips are quivering, and crying is the last thing he wants to do. The confusion and anger swirling around in his head complete with the control of his mouth, but ultimately, his mouth loses the battle and he doesn't control what it says next.

Like a rocket launching off, Peter jumps from his seat with lightning speed, pushing the chair back an inch or two. " _What the fuck_?!" He shouts, glaring at his parents through blurred vision.

" _Peter_!" Steve gasps.

Tony jumps at the outburst, but he doesn't say anything, not that he has room to because Peter isn't finished.

"You're damn right, I have questions! My first one is why? _Why the fuck are you doing this_? You never fought! A-a-a-and you sleep in the same bed, and we all eat together, and I hear you guys having sex _all the time_!" He sniffles, face drenched in tears dripping down to his cheeks and off his jaw. "What happened? Why...why don't you guys just wanna keep trying?

Steve's tone is stern yet understanding even if he is flabbergasted by the sudden and bold onslaught of Peter's ramblings. "Peter, this decision wasn't an easy one to make for either of us. The first thing we thought about was you when we made sure that this is what we wanna do. Now, please, son, just sit down and-"

"Dad, _why_? You're not telling me _why_!" Peter interrupts, forgetting all his manners in the heat of his anguish.

"Don't raise your voice to your father," Tony instructs with a calming hand up at Peter. "It's complicated right now, and in time we will tell you why we had to do this, but for now all that matters is that you're our son and nothing will change how much we love you. Understand?"

_There's not even a sensible reason for this?_

Peter wanted to yell some more, but instead he sits back down and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

"Yes," he answers, nodding, so confused and hurt by everything that is going on. "C-c-can I go to my room?"

Steve's eyes are red and watering as well. "Yeah, Pete. We'll be up in a few to check on you."

In the hast to be alone as quickly as possible, he nearly trips over his own feet.

When he's finally in the safety of his room with the door locked right, he buries his head in his pillow and wails. A skull splitting migraine overtakes him, leaving him not only hurt in the heart but in the head as well.

The room spins wildly, and his body undergoes an involuntary paralysis when it relaxes enough to stop shuddering all over and worm under his comforter with his day clothes on. The energy of crying takes everything out of him, and not before long, he's sleeping.

 

 --

  
The light knocking on the other side of his bedroom door awakens Peter from his deep slumber. His face is stiff with dried tears, but the rest of his body is sticky, his t-shirt clinging to his chest with perspiration.

Barely coherent, he yawns and the earlier conversation with his parents floods back at once as a harsh reminder that his life is over. He groans to himself; everything really hurts.

On the other side, the knocking stops after a moment.

"Peter," Pop is saying. "We made your favorite meal whenever you're hungry. We know you probably don't wanna see us right now, but we'd really like to talk to you."

Peter isn't sure what to do in that moment. He's not hungry nor does he feel like talking to them anymore if they're unable to give him a reason as to why this is happening.

"Kiddo, whenever you do wanna talk to us, we'll be here," Dad says now, and Peter can practically hear his frown. "Nothing has to change right now, and we don't want you to feel pressure about living arrangements—"

_Living arrangements._

Peter shivers at the thought of his new reality.

_This is actually happening._

Peter drowns out the rest of his father's words by laying down and focusing on falling asleep again.

 

\--

  
The second time Peter awakes, it is dark outside and he has several missed calls and a few texts from Ned.

_What'd your dads say?_

_Are you gonna be there?_  

 _Should I come over?_  

Peter connects his phone to the charger, unable to muster up the courage to answer his best friend honestly.

This was supposed to be the best summer of his life.

_What happens now?_


	2. Chapter 2

Peter awakes unnecessarily early for summer vacation the following morning. The sun hadn't even peaked over the horizon before his eyes were springing open to stare into the navy and black shadows of his room. His head has finally stopped throbbing, but the second he's coherent enough, he remembers yesterday, and everything hurts again.

He lays in bed for a long while, contemplating his next move. Eventually, he'll have to text Ned back then go apologize to his parents for how he'd acted even though his actions are very justified.

Had it not been for his bladder, he would've stayed in bed for another couple of minutes, but he forces himself out of his full size bed to relieve himself in the attached bathroom. As he washes his hands, he catches a glimpse of his red-rimmed, puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, chapped lips, and ruffled hair. Using just bar soap and warm water, he cleanses his face and pats it dry with a towel.

The digital clock on his cell phone reads half past five, and if anything is how it's supposed to be on a random summer morning in the Stark household, Dad would be getting dressed to go to his studio and Pop would already be in his basement office, handling some important business deal for Stark Industries.

Dad had said nothing would change as of yet, but the silence haunting the upper level says otherwise. The shower should be running a few rooms over, coffee should be brewing strong enough to reach Peter's room, and the weather forecast on TV should be loud enough that the neighbors could hear it.

These are all the things Peter is used to when he is up at this hour to go to school. That's how it was just yesterday, and now it's quiet with nothing but his heartbeat to keep things familiar.

What had changed in such a short time, and why hadn't he detected something wrong with them sooner? Realistically, he couldn't have done anything to prevent it, but had they been fighting and behaving unaffectionately, the news wouldn't come as such a surprise. It would have still hurt, but Peter wouldn't feel so betrayed.

In the midst of thought, Peter's stomach cramps up and growls. He really didn't want to leave his room, but not a lot gets in the way of his hunger. 

"Traitor," he grumbles to his abdomen and extracts himself from the confines of his comforter. He throws on a random pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt lying on the carpet and purposely lags as he exits his room and goes downstairs.

The lower level feels just like Peter's bedroom—dark, gloomy, too silent for comfort, and cold as hell. He shivers on his way to the kitchen, ultimately feeling out of place as he walks to the fridge.

The entire pan of macaroni and cheese Tony and Steve made last night is on the top shelf with aluminum foil covering the top, so instead of cutting himself out a portion, Peter reheats the whole dish in the oven and eats out of the pan with a fork.

It's delicious, but Peter refuses to admit that to himself. This is a pity meal, and he acknowledges it as such as he chews mouthful after mouthful with a pout.

Half of the dish is demolished by the time the ceiling above creaks under the weight of someone walking. Judging by the placement of each thumping footstep, it's one of his parents getting out of bed to use the bathroom.

Even with knowing what he knows now, Peter is still very perplexed as to why they'd still share a room and sleep in the same bed if they're "splitting up?"

Peter scoffs. He hates that term.

Maybe when they come downstairs, the three of them can finally talk everything out and Peter can ask what he needs to without losing his head and stomping off.

He eats another square of pasta before a sudden ruckus from above creeps downstairs, and the only sense of life in the house is the sound of his fathers' voices rising gradually from passive aggressive quips to full fledged hatred in every word they spit at each other.

Stunned, Peter stops chewing and strains his ears to listen.

This is unusual; neither of them ever so much as raised their voices to Peter, so to hear any volume above a gentle scolding from either of them is foreign and frightening to say the least.

Peter gets up from the island stool and stands at the end of the stairs to eavesdrop instead of straining his ears to listen through the ceiling.

“-and it's like you don't even wanna try, Tony! God, I've told you a million times that I would have forgiven you if you at least made an effort to care about-" Dad is yelling, obviously desperate to make his point but Pop interrupts.

"Caring? You're gonna talk to me about caring? Who do you think you are to tell me about caring when I was the one who made a life for us when we had nothing?"

"Here we go with this again! When are you going to stop taking all the credit for everything? You knew I didn't have a dime when you met me, Tony, and the fact that you blow it up in my face every time we talk about this is low even for you."

This must be why Peter had never heard them fight; he'd be at school by this time. From what he can tell, Peter decides they're frustrated of having such a tired conversation that includes baiting and taunting the other.

"Says the one who flaunts his mistress at my fucking business dinner in front of all my colleagues? What kind of evil person does that, Steve?"

"You're harping on a situation you made up all in your head because you are insecure and you always have been! And you have no room to talk about me and him when you did what you did! If I could, I'd hate you so much for what you've done to me." Dad's voice cracks on the tail end of the sentence, striking Peter right in the chest.

He gasps aloud then covers his mouth immediately. His eyes are stinging again, but he bites his bottom lip, willing himself to not whimper aloud. The only time Peter has heard his Dad choke up like that was when his father, Joseph, died last year, and that was the most depressing three weeks Peter had seen out of his parents' lives.

So not to get too worked up, he backs away from the stairs and goes back into the kitchen to finish the pan of food. Although the food is delicious and momentarily keeps him occupied, Peter can't help replaying the parts of the fight that stuck out the most.

Dad had said ' _me and him_.' Who is ' _him_ ' and why is Pop so up in arms about it?

What is it that Pop didn't care about anymore?

What did Dad have to forgive Pop for that he hadn't apologized for?

Every scenario under the sun flashes behind Peter's eyes when he tries to blink away the images of one of his parents cheating or raising their voices at each other.

It's not anything he's used to, and quite frankly, it disturbs him. This entire ordeal is unfamiliar, and he just wants to be alone now.

Peter sighs, disgusted that he'd eaten the entire pan of macaroni and cheese in such a short amount of time, and gulps down an entire bottle of water before leaving the kitchen and standing at the foot of the stairs for a second.

The yelling had quieted down and more footsteps make the ceiling creak. Peter waits another moment before inhaling sharply and going back upstairs to his room.

The master bedroom door is still closed and if Peter is lucky, they'll think he's still asleep and hadn't heard anything, so it won't make for more bullshit speeches about nothing being Peter's fault and other forced family unification tactics.

Peter takes his phone off the charger and once the screen lights up, he reads that it's almost a quarter past six and he has a multitude of new texts from Ned.

 _Peter!!!!_  

 _PETER_  

_ARE YOU ALIVE?_

Despite how shitty Peter feels, he can't help how good he feels to know his best friend cares this much.

 _Why are you up so early?_ Peter texts back, and within seconds, Ned is FaceTiming him. Peter accepts the call and nearly bursts into hysterics at the mess of Ned's bed head and adorable superhero themed pajamas on the other end of the line.

"I'm up early because my mom has been blasting Gloria Estefan all morning, so I give it about another fifteen minutes before she busts in and tells me it's a cleaning day."

Although Peter cannot relate, that doesn't stop him from laughing at the faint sounds of Latin pop music playing in the background while Ned grimaces forebodingly at the day ahead of him.

"I'll pray for you," he teases.

Ned shrugs and gets out of bed, propping his phone against the wall as he does so. "Dude, what happened last night? I figured we weren't going to the party anyway, but why didn't you answer my calls?"

After Peter's laughter fades, a frustrated groan replaces it. He has no idea how to start this, but he knows he has to tell Ned the truth. "I got into a fight with my parents last night."

"Oh, no, Pete. Please tell me you didn't get into it over Flash Thompson's stupid party of all things-"

"The conversation didn't even get that far, Ned. It was about something else. Something bigger than some party," he exhales sadly, that familiar stinging of his eyes returning faintly when he remembers how his parents had looked when he came home.

They'd made the "mutual decision to split up," and all they offered Peter as a pain reliever was macaroni and cheese.

Peter moves the phone out of frame of his face so Ned doesn't see him tearing up.

_Why was this happening to them?_

"Peter?" Ned is saying, and Peter considers muting his end of the call to avoid his friend hearing him sniffle.

"Are you free at all today? I don't wanna tell you this over the phone," Peter manages to bite out after swallowing passed the most painful lump his throat has ever formed.

Ned pauses, thinking. After a minute, he nods to the camera even though he can't see Peter's face.

"You want me to come by this afternoon?"

The burn behind keeping Peter's voice clear and unclogged of tears turns his face, neck and chest red with determination. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Okay, Peter," Ned agrees, almost sadly. "I'll call you when I'm done."

Before he can help it, Peter ends the call without a proper goodbye and feels bad about it. Like the floodgates being flung open, warm tears spill down his face rapidly, along with a few pained whimpers that he muffled into his pillow.

_Why was this happening to him?_

 

_\- -_

   
Peter hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but he awakes four hours later to blazingly harsh sun rays lighting his room through his blinds, lawn motors humming down the block, birds chirping, and cars whizzing through the neighborhood.

His head only hurts slightly now, but he ignores the throbbing pain while he takes a hot shower to cleanse himself from the tears and gunk from this morning. Afterward, he puts on a pair of light wash distressed jeans, his sneakers, and a plain grey t-shirt. He styles his hair back with light product and does a once over in the bathroom's full length mirror to assure he doesn't look like he'd been crying his soul out for the last few hours.

When he steps out into the hallway, Peter sees the master bedroom door is still closed, but that familiar sense of home creeps up on him as the mid-morning news plays on the television downstairs loud enough to reach up the stairs.

This time, Peter feels more comfortable with going down there, but he doesn't hesitate to keep frowning when he halfway enters the living room.

Pop is on the love seat positioned comfortably with his knees in the cushion holding a steaming mug of tea in one hand and the television remote in the other.

Dad isn't there snuggled up with him like he'd usually be, but Peter guesses he'll just have to get used to this now.

"Hey, Pop," Peter greets, making Tony's head snap up to the living room entrance, shocked but grateful that his son had finally emerged from his room.

"Hey," he says, setting his mug over a coaster on the coffee table to stand and approach Peter. "You're looking sharp for your first day of summer vacation. Any plans?"

"Ned and I are gonna hang out later," Peter answers, fingers tapping nervously on the wall. "Just came down to see if anyone was home."

"Just me." Pop nods, smiling sadly as he lays a hand to Peter's shoulder and squeezes. "How you feelin', kid?"

Peter grimaces harder now without meaning to. He just shrugs, and that's answer enough because Tony nods again and extracts his hand.

"Where's Dad?" he asks, gulping, figuring he might as well stop beating around the bush. "I wanna talk a little about, um, all of this with, er, both of you, ya know?" he stammers and clears his throat to add, "Before Ned gets here."

Tony's eyebrows fly upward in shock for a second time because he had not been expecting Peter to initiate anything involving their current situation.

Caught off guard, Tony shakes his head. "Your father had a meeting to go to this morning."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Around noon," Tony answers.

Peter nods and heads for the front door. He's not sure where he's going, but he'd rather not spend any unnecessary time in the presence of his father's sadness.

Tony huffs in frustration. "Hey, Petey, I wanna say I'm sorry about how last night went down," he exhales in a quick rush before Peter can reach the door.

With his hand hovering above the doorknob, Peter turns his head to see Tony's apologetic smirk and passive shoulder shrug.

"It was a lot to put on you on your last day of school, especially since the day was supposed to be about you," Tony admits, gesturing to Peter then to himself, "and we managed to make it about us. That was incredibly selfish of your father and I to do. "

Now it's Peter's turn to be thrown off guard.

His Pop _never_ apologizes.

Peter swallows tightly for lack of anything better to say. All he can manage is a nod then stare at his Converse shoes like they were the most interesting thing ever. The proper thing to say would be " _It's okay_ ," but it's the farthest thing from that.

Tony recognizes the awkwardness in the air, but continues smiling at his son anyway, unable to contain himself. "I remember when we brought you home from the hospital-" he starts wistfully but Peter groans.

"May spent fourteen hours in labor-"

"I know."

"That umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck _twice_ and your tiny body was all blue-"

"Pop-"

"Steve was spazzing out so much that the nurses told him to leave, but he ended up fainting just as you began crying, so I had to cut the umbilical cord," Tony continues, looking over Peter with more love and admiration than a person should be allowed to give to another.

It pokes a soft spot on the edge of Peter's heart, and although he's heard the story a thousand times, he lets his father reminisce for his own sake.

"After May got to hold you and the nurses took your footprints, I wrapped you up in a blue blanket and we took you home. Gosh, your father rode in the backseat with you for months just to watch you everywhere we went and make sure you were safe. Said he didn't want you to get lonely in the back and he didn't want you to think that all your babbling gibberish went unheard."

Peter snickers. "What a dork."

"Yes, he's a dork for it, but in those first few months, I'm sure Steve would've used me as a human shield to protect you."

There goes Peter's face getting hot again.

"He and I were crazy about you," Tony admits. "And we still love you the way we did when we brought you home sixteen years ago. So before you, Dad, and I have this talk officially, I wanna reiterate that this _really_ isn't your fault."

Peter never did think that their separation was his fault, but the simple fact that Pop is making sure Peter knows that slightly heals the wound.

"I know, Pop," he says with another nod, again unsure how he should respond.

 

\- - 

 

Ned calls Peter a little after three to tell him that he is on his way over, and Steve still isn't home by then.

Steve's lateness and lack of a phone call in advance about said lateness didn't disappoint Peter considering he'd rather hold off the fate of their family, living arrangements, and other issues that come up with separations for as long as possible even though it is the most mature thing to do in requesting he and his parents talk.

Pop, however, is pacing from wall to wall of the family room with a furrowed brow and thin lips, mumbling to himself angrily.

"He said he'd be home _hours_ ago!"

Peter's eyes follow Pop's pacing back and forth.

"He was supposed to be home by now. Always so selfish," Tony grumbles and has the decency to wince when Peter overhears him.

"Maybe his meeting is running late?" Peter suggests, but Tony isn't having it.

"Yeah, but it's common courtesy to call, text, or send a carrier pigeon if that does happen."

"It's really okay if we don't talk right now. Ned's gonna be here any minute and I'll-"

"It's the principle of the thing, kiddo.

Peter frowns. "Pop, if you and Dad are separating, then why do you care if he doesn't call about a meeting running late?"

"It's. The. Principle," Tony grits out, clearly frustrated, so Peter doesn't press the matter forward.

Another ten minutes of pacing later and there's a key turning in the lock of the front door. Tony's head snaps up from the ground, bearing a tight lipped grimace and creased eyebrow for Dad when he sees him, but just as quickly as the look came, it went when he gets a good look at who else had entered the house.

"Oh, hey, Ned!" Tony exclaims, waving to Peter's friend as, completely ignoring Steve even as he passes by into the kitchen to clap Peter on the shoulder in greeting and get himself a bottle of water.

"Hey, Mr. Stark!" Ned greets back and turns the corner into the kitchen too. He has on a Star Wars t-shirt, and really, it's so precious.

Peter smiles at the sight of him and hops off the bar stool. "You guys see each other on the way?"

"Ned was walking the way I was driving, so I figured I'd give him a ride the rest of the way up to the house," Steve explains, leaning against the counter and taking a swig of water. "Where'r you guys headed?"

"The arcade," Peter answers, patting Ned on the back. "Let's go, man."

"Wait!" Steve stops them before they can make another move. "Remember your curfew?"

"Yes, Dad," Peter grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Ten o'clock. Can we please-"

"You have your phone? What percent are you on?"

Peter pats the pocket that his phone is tucked in then takes it out to check his battery life. "Ninety," he says, and puts the device back in his pocket. "Now can I-"

"Do you have money?" Tony interrupts, like it's an afterthought he'd meant to ask earlier.

Peter actually has to think about that one. In the silence of his thoughts, his parents exchange a knowing glance, and Steve is already reaching in his pocket for his wallet to give Peter a crisp twenty dollar bill.

"Thanks, Dad," Peter says, pocketing the bill in his wallet. "May we go now?"

"Yes, you may. Have fun, guys!" Steve calls out.

"Bye, Mr. Starks!" Ned responds with a goodbye wave as Peter leads them to the front hall to grab his house keys.

"Your parents are so cool," Ned says once they're on the porch and Peter is locking the door behind them.

His eyebrows rise with uncertainty. "Cool is one way to put it."

 

\- - 

  
The two boys spend about an hour on the subway to Flushing. Neither of them mind the long ride even though the train is packed with rush hour on the rise.

When they get to the arcade, Peter deliberately prolongs any type of discussion and distracts himself and Ned with playing multiple arcade games, air hockey, and a few competitive games of pool.

“You’re cheating!” Peter announces among the loud cartoon blasts and explosions going on at other game stations around them after Ned wins the third consecutive game of pool.

“Just ‘cus you’re bad at this doesn’t mean I’m cheating,” Ned shrugs with a shit-eating smirk, leaning the cue and pointing to the table. “Up for another ass kicking?”

Peter is halfway tempted to take him up on that, but he knows it’s a trick so instead of indulging in Ned’s taunting, he shakes his head and mounts his cue back on the wall. “Nah, man, let’s eat.”

The pizza that the arcade serves is nothing compared to Mr. Delmar’s dollar slices, but they order a large cheese to share and slushees to sip on while they wait for it to finish cooking.

The two of them seclude themselves from the chaos of the rest of the arcade in the quietest corner of the attached restaurant in a booth for two, and Ned barely allows Peter to settle on his side of the booth before the interrogation begins.

“So, what is going on?” he asks sincerely, and the caring nature Ned regularly perpetuates is a blessing because the softness of that question has Peter tender at his edges again.

He shakes his head at the absolute absurdity of what he’s about to say.

“My parents are separating,” he exhales with a shrug that he hopes convey nonchalance.

Ned blinks a few times, jaws dropped, and head cocking to the side as though he were thinking. Peter nods at his astonishment and drinks some of his slushee while Ned processes everything just as Peter had.

After another few moments of disbelief, Ned looks back to Peter and leans back in his seat.  
“ _What the fuck_?”

Hearing Ned curse was unusual and hit Peter’s ear wrong in the same way it probably did his parents’s when he’d said the same exact thing yesterday.

“That’s what I said.”

“Splitting up like legal separation or a full on divorce with no room for reconciling?”

“Well, Dad was saying something about living arrangements, so it’s safe to say that there’s nothing bringing them back together.”

Ned scoffs, eyes scanning the table top, Peter’s face and out the window as though he were searching for a tangible reason. “This is so sudden. Like, out of nowhere they just said ‘we’re getting a divorce?’”

“They used the term ‘ _splitting up_ ,’” Peter corrects, using air quotes. “They sat me down the second I got home and told me, and I pretty much spent the whole night trying not to freak out. That’s why I didn’t call.”

With more understanding, Ned nods but abruptly shakes his head. “But they never, like, fought, right?”

“That’s what I said!” Peter exclaims, pointing to Ned. “They’d never raised their voices or so much as disagreed about anything except whether we’re having mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese as a side dish!”

“That’s so weird!” Ned pauses and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Do you think one of them cheated?”

Peter shrugs again. “I can’t imagine either of them cheating on the other. I was supposed to talk to them together about everything today,  
but my Dad was late from some meeting. My Pop was furious and that’s when you guys came in.”

“Talk about everything—?” Ned prompts.

“We were going to last night but I ended up cursing at them and stomping to my room,” he recalls, utterly ashamed at his behavior and surprised he hadn’t been punished for such.

“It was a lot to handle at once, but the most they told me was that they’d tell me when everything made sense. Which doesn’t make sense anyway, but they’re very good at hiding I’m learning.”

With a sympathetic nod, Ned says, “so what are you gonna do if they make you choose who you wanna live with?”

“Die,” Peter deadpans and Ned gasps before fighting back a laugh he isn’t sure he should let out until Peter joins him.

“No, but really, Ned, I have no clue,” he says, staring at the table top when his giggles die down. “I’ll stay with whoever stays in Queens so I can finish my senior year at Midtown, and who knows from there?”

“And for the summer?”

A gust of air rushes out of Peter in an unsure exhales. “I don’t know, buddy.”

And he really means that.

They devour the pizza within just minutes when it’s served to their table. After doing so, they play another round of pool and decide to leave when the arcade gets particularly crowded with a tourist crowd. By six, they’re taking the subway back to Ned’s neighborhood.

“Call me tomorrow,” Peter tells him as he watches his friend step onto the platform and wave goodbye. He doesn’t look away until Ned is out of sight and blended in the midst of underground bustle before plugging his earphones into his cell phone to drown out the noise of the train until he reaches his stop.

The sun’s shine is dimming yet lingering in the sky, setting in an array of swirling hues over the neighborhood and peaking its last rays of daylight through the trees overtop the houses.

It’s a sight worth taking in, so Peter’s pace slows just so he can enjoy it in all its beauty. If there’s anything stalling being around his parents, it might as well be appreciating a sunset against a score from the Titanic soundtrack playing at full volume in his ears.

Not before long, the song ends, so Peter pulls his earphones out and takes his keys from his pocket.

Upon opening the door, he hadn’t gotten halfway through the threshold to note that the noise he’d walked into is considerably less poetic than the Titanic soundtrack, but he listens in anyway.

It’s his parents’s voice.

And they’re yelling _again_.

 _Great_.

“-gone all day and don't even see your son!" Tony is shouting from what sounds like all the way in the kitchen.

_There’s no way they’d been fighting this entire time..._

“Don’t use him as a crutch to make me feel guilty, cus I bet you fucking loved having me out of here all day!” Steve exclaims with enough viciousness to match Tony’s.

Peter cannot take hearing his Dad and Pop talking like this to one another. He’s not used to it, he doesn’t like it, and he’s emotionally unable to handle it. How does someone live the privileged life he has and then be expected to adjust to such drastic changes without losing his head?

Is that even possible?

Out of all of this, he never thought he’d actually feel scared - anxious, unsure, and pessimistic, maybe, but not scared.

And right now, his parents are scaring him.

Unable to endure what awaits him, Peter shuts the door quietly and locks it. They’d been yelling so much that they didn’t even hear the alarm alert that the door had even opened.

With a few hours to spare before curfew, Peter decides to take a trip a few blocks up the street to clear his head.

He opens the garage, mounts his bike, and makes a valiant effort to get where he needs to before the tears can rush from his eyes. Not even the sunset is helping, and that only makes Peter sadder.

He vaguely recalls getting to his destination, tossing his bike on the front lawn, and knocking erratically on the screen door with a balled fist.

“Aye, I’m comin! I’m comin!” A thick Queens accent yells from the other side a millisecond after Peter has begun his assault on the door.

The green wooden door flies open. “Hold the horses, ya little - _Peter_?!”

Ashamed, Peter refuses to look his Aunt May in the eyes as she unlocks the screen door and swings it open.

“Peter, what’s going on? Where’s your key?” she demands, and takes immediate notice of the wet, red, and splotchy mess of her nephew’s (technically her biological son, but that’s details) face.

Peter’s keys to May’s house are in his pocket attached to the keys to his own house, but in the state he’s in, he didn’t think to use them. Instead of answering, he sniffles wordlessly and shrugs.

Without hesitation, May lets Peter into her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a big ass thank you to my beta for life, Halcyon Seasons, for doing this chapter for me.

May ushers Peter to the bathroom where he wipes his face of tears with hot water and a washcloth. It is the third time he is doing so today, which in turn makes him want to cry more.

Instead of doing so, he sniffles the last of his tears and wills himself to control his emotions long enough for his face to dry.

“Peter,” May says softly from the other side of the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready to come out and talk.”

“Okay, May,” he replies, shaking slightly. “Just give me another moment, please.”

“Alright, tiger,” she says. “There’s no rush.”

Peter sighs, presses his back to the door, and sinks until his bottom hits the pink tile floor. The fear that initially washed over him subsides in minute waves, and it finally feels like he can breathe again.

He’s safe at May’s house, so it’s not at all ridiculous that he immediately came to her. No one is ever yelling here unless it’s someone from those Real Housewives of Insert Random City Here reality TV shows that she loves so much, but even then, it’s just background noise.

As safe as he is over here, Peter knows that May will interrogate him on everything, and he can’t lie to her—even if he does want to tell her that everything is fine, he overreacted over something little, and that it’s just hormones making him so emotional.

Had Tony and Steve even told May yet? They very well could have told her before they told Peter—he was probably the last to know.

Peter sighs and stands from his squat to examine his pathetic reflection again. His face is dry for the most part, but his eyeballs are still glowing red. Despite this, he exits the bathroom anyway and follows the soft sounds of bluegrass and jazz music to the kitchen where May is chopping up vegetables on a cutting board while a pot of water boils on one of the stove top burners.

He stands in the kitchen threshold, eyes casted sadly to the floor, so he misses when May peers behind her to look him over.

May wishes she could describe him as a strong kid, but his life has never faced such tribulations to grow from in order to do so. He may live a sheltered life, but he is beyond spoiled being the only child to a very rich businessman engineer and an equally well off owner of a digital art company. It’s out of the ordinary to see him in any other state besides the usual happy-go-lucky and pleasant disposition he displays every day of his life.

She turns back to the counter, sighing lightly, then turns down her music with a turn of a knob on the radio above the fridge.

“You okay, Peter?” May asks, closing the space between them to cup one of his cheeks gently so to comfort instead of force him to look at her. He hesitates, but ultimately shakes his head.

She figured he’d say that. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Peter shakes his head again. “I’m not really sure myself.”

“Did something happen at school?”

“Yesterday was my last day.”

May rubs his cheek. “Is Ned okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s not him.”

Realizing this isn’t going to go anywhere, she decides to drop it for now. Peter clearly doesn’t want to discuss it at the moment, so she won’t push no matter how crazy it makes her to see him this way.

She combs a hand through his hair. “How ‘bout instead of talking, you help me with dinner? Feel like homemade soup?”

Peter finally lifts his head to reveal his grimace. “I’m not having the best week, Aunt May, and that soup would only make it worse.”

“You don’t have to eat it, smart-ass,” May insists, pinching his chin. “Help me make my soup and I’ll order you the most disgustingly greasy meat-lovers pizza from this side of Queens.”

“Had pizza earlier,” he tells her, and goes to the sink to wash his hands. “I’ll help with the soup anyway.”

May’s smile is sad but grateful. “What would I do without you, Peter?” she asks rhetorically and to distract from the tension, she turns the music back on.

For a few songs, they chop veggies and toss them in the pot without a word between them. Peter is frowning down at the tomatoes, unsure of what coming to May’s house was going to resolve. His mood could be taking a toll on May’s mood, and even with knowing that, he can’t seem to brighten up.

The soup is finished brewing about fifteen minutes later, and despite declining multiple times, Peter finds himself at May’s round dining room table with a steaming pile of soup warming his face. He downs a few spoonfuls, and it’s not as bad he’d thought it’d be even if he has no interesting in eating it.

May is enjoying her bowl, pretending not to glance worriedly at Peter whenever she thinks he isn’t looking.

Peter notices anyway, so to make light of everything, he clears his throat and forces himself to sound engaging when he asks “Are you still going to that yoga class?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Went just yesterday, met up with some friends for lunch, did some shopping. How was the last day?”

“It was okay,” he shrugs even though he is lying.

“Do anything fun to celebrate being a senior?”

 _Besides cry myself to sleep?_ “Not really.”

“Aw, no parties?” She slurps up another spoonful, oblivious that Peter’s short answers are what’s keeping him from crying again.

“I didn’t wanna go anywhere.”

May puts her spoon in the bowl, thinking to herself with her eyebrows raised in mock surprise to pull a reaction out of him.

“A few days ago your dad told me about how excited you were to be a senior and how Flash Thompson was throwing this big end of the year party.”

Peter is quick to glare up at his aunt, automatically suspicious and caught off guard. “H-h-how did you know about—”

“You may think your parents don’t pay attention to you, but you’re not exactly subtle when it comes to your feelings and things you want.”

Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Pete, your parents knew you wanted to go to that party, and they were gonna let you go, but all of a sudden, you didn’t ‘wanna go anywhere’?” May squints at him, using air quotes.

He would’ve never suspected that his parents would have let him go to the party, let alone know about it before Peter ever mentioned it.

Peter’s mouth hangs open for a second with just unintelligent babbles coming out before any coherent words do.

“I just—uh, I didn’t know, er—” He gulps. “May, I just wasn’t feeling up to a party last night.”

“Why?” she asks, putting a caring hand on his arm. “Sweetie, you know you don’t have to lie and say you’re alright when you can tell me anything. Something is bothering you today.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You came to my door crying just now!”

Peter winces. “I’m sorry, May.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be honest,” she insists, turning her chair to face him directly.

Peter gulps and regards the concerned look on her face. Before he can stop himself to think, he shrugs and mumbles out, “Dad and Pop are separating. They told me yesterday.”

The expression that crosses May’s features is unreadable at first; Peter can’t tell if she’s sad with an undertone of understanding given she’d known or utter realization because this is news to her, too.

She sighs heavily and looks back at her soup. “Oh, Peter,” she says, shaking her head and sitting back in her chair. “I’m sorry.”

Peter looks back down. “You knew,” he concludes and she confirms with a short nod.

He exhales now, somewhat relieved he’d gotten that off of his chest yet mortified that it’s still a reality.

“They told me a few weeks ago,” she confesses with a soft frown. “I was just as shocked. Steve and I had countless conversations about how they’d break the news to you. I just didn’t know they’d do it at the beginning of your summer break.”

“Probably to get me adjusted to a new environment before switching schools,” Peter guesses, swirling the now cold soup with his spoon.

May grimaces. “Your fathers wouldn’t take you anywhere you wouldn’t wanna be even if they weren’t separating,” she assures him. “Wherever Steve is moving, he said he’d stay close enough so you can keep going to Midtown.”

He looks back up at her incredulously. “So Dad’s the one moving out?”

May’s eyes widen. Her hands fly to cover her mouth as if the secret would magically go back in. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Your fathers wanted to explain everything.”

Peter thinks about life in the house with just Pop. It’ll certainly be weird to not see Dad around everyday, and Peter isn’t sure he can deal with not seeing either parent every single day.

He loves his parents immensely and the absence of one would crush him.

It’ll be even worse if Pop decides to remarry, and someone else—a stranger—will be there in the house that his parents flourished in together, doing all the things with Tony that Steve did. Peter won’t be able to handle that, and he can mentally refuse to for as long as he wants.

“Did they at least say why?” Peter asks.

May is anxiously swirling her soup now, glancing everywhere but Peter’s face, and it’s all Peter needs to know: she knows, but she won’t tell him.

“Peter, I think that’s something you need to discuss with them,” she tells him sadly, desperate to say what’s on her mind, but withholding it out of respect for Tony and Steve.

He nods, understanding. “I’m afraid to go home.”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “Why?”

“Since just yesterday, they’ve fought constantly,” he tells her. “They don’t know I hear them. I’ve never heard them talk to each other that way. It’s kinda scary, May.”

May nods, collecting this information carefully while remaining neutral. “Peter, you know you can always stay the night here if you don’t wanna go home.”

He almost considers it, but this talk needs to happen at some point, so he shakes his head. “I’ve gotta be home tonight, May,” he says, glancing at the time on his phone. “In fact, I gotta get going, so I can get this over with.”

Peter stands from the table, clearing his bowl then putting it in the sink with May following close behind to dump her cold soup back in the pot.

“You sure?” May asks, escorting him to the front door.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he insists with a nod.

She smiles wryly up at him. She remembers when they were the same height, now she’s looking up at him; how time flies. Her expression reads unsure but willing, but Peter doesn’t notice.

“Okay, Peter,” May says and pulls him in for a hug. He embraces her tightly, nose digging into her shoulder and inhaling her flowery perfume.

“You know I’m always here, kid,” she continues, patting his back and letting him go so he can walk through the threshold.

“Thanks, Aunt May!” he says on his way out, waving behind him, fully aware that she’s watching him collect his bike from the front yard, climb on and ride down out of sight down the block through the screen door.

Once she can no longer see him, May frowns deeply and makes a note to give Steve and Tony a phone call.

 

 - - 

 

Some type of weight is lifted off of his shoulders on the way back to the house. The sun had almost completely gone down by this time, so he increases his peddling speed to avoid being out when it’s completely dark.

With two hours to spare before curfew, Peter makes it back home where he puts his bike away, and enters in through the garage door leading into the hallway attached to the kitchen.

To his surprise, the aroma of Dad’s lasagna fills Peter’s nose the instant he walks in and for a moment, hope fills his heart. The scene in the kitchen unfolds before him the instant he enters, and another rush of hope pumps its unwanted way through Peter’s chest.

Steve is at the counter, mixing what looks to be brownie mix in a giant plastic bowl surrounded by various ingredients while Tony stands at the sink, washing dishes. The radio in the living room is playing rock music at a low volume while both of them watch a news story on the TV in the kitchen and exchange a few gentle interactions.

It’s very normal, unsettlingly so. They’d just been hollering and getting at each other’s throats a few short hours ago, and now they’re cooking together?

Peter makes himself known by setting his keys and phone on the kitchen island. His fathers turn around, both of them smiling at him like they usually would be.

“Hey, kiddo, how was the arcade?” Tony asks, turning the rushing faucet off and drying his hands with a paper towel.

“It was fine. What’d you guys do besides play Martha Stewart?” Peter jokes, taking a seat on an island stool. Tony chuckles then turns the TV down.

“What a comedian you are,” Steve murmurs and continues stirring the bowl for another minute before stretching his arm out and turning completely to face Peter. “Well, if you must know, we talked some things out and have been waiting on you.”

Peter cocks his head, painfully aware that his face is getting sweaty with anxiety. “Talked,” he repeats.

Tony nods in agreement, leaning on the sink and crossing his arms in such a relaxed way that it transcends over to Peter. While he is anxious, he doesn’t feel defensive about having this conversation.

“We know this is hard,” Tony begins, tapping Steve’s elbow with his own. “We know this is all foreign and new for you given you’ve had the luxury of having both of your parents in your life all this time. Honestly, Peter, we’re immensely sorry if we let you down. That’s the last thing we wanted to do.”

Peter nods. “I know,” he admits.

Steve exhales. “Last night wasn’t the ideal way to break the news. I guess we let our emotions at the time influence our decision to tell you, and we should’ve waited for another time so that you wouldn’t feel ambushed. We really are sorry, Petey.”

Peter knows his fathers really mean their apology. He nods again, showing he’s listening and taking everything in with an open mind.

“We know you have questions, and whatever it is you wanna know, we’ll tell you. You deserve that from us.” Tony puts a palm out to Peter, encouraging him to ask anything.

Every question in the world is going in and out of Peter’s mind. He wants to know everything but too much at once might make him cry again.

“Why?” He lifts his shoulders tightly and lets them drop. “Why are you guys splitting up?”

Steve and Tony share a look similar to the one May had given him earlier. Peter grimaces, resting his head on his hand while he waits for an answer.

“Peter, that’s gonna be a little tough to tell at the moment ,” Steve explains, looking at the side of Tony’s face before back to his son. “Some stuff we don’t even know ourselves, and if we knew, we’d tell you, but right now, it’s just not possible.”

“You could just say you don’t love each other anymore—it feels like you’re just saying you’re splitting up without a solid reason to be funny.”

Both men are silent for a brief minute with matching frowns. Peter can instantly tell that wasn’t the right thing to say, and he instantly regrets it.

“That’s not something we’d joke about. It’s not that easy, but trust me, I wish it was,” Tony admits. “Dad and I will always have love between us in the form of you, Peter.”

“I’ll always love Tony for giving me you,” Steve adds on. “Yes, it’s cheesy as hell, but it’s the truth.”

“How long have you guys been feeling like you wanted to split up?” He doesn’t know why he’d asked that but it seems like a valid question.

“Whatever was between us dwindled out years ago, and it was wrong of us to pretend that everything was okay for this long for your sake. It’s not healthy for any of us,” Steve says sadly.

“Did you guys at least wanna try marriage counseling? Is this a legal separation or are you guys getting fully divorced?”

“What’s going on between us is so beyond counseling that it’s in the stratosphere, ” Tony answers. “It’s best for us to separate so we don’t hold each other back anymore.”

Peter can see where that’s relevant. “And—?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s a divorce. We didn’t wanna make it sound so severe by using that word but that’s essentially what it is.”

That hurts to hear.

“Did one of you cheat?”

They go silent long enough for the space to be awkward. Tony’s eyebrows fly up at the bluntness of the question whereas Steve is taken aback by the question itself.

“Um, Peter, it’s nothing like that. What’s going on between he and I is between us and no one else,” Tony replies, sheepishly looking off to the side. “Anything else?”

“Am I still gonna be able to go to Midtown for my senior year?”

“Of course, kid,” Steve reassures him, leaning over the island to be closer to his son. “We’d never take you out of your comfort zone for something going on with us.”

“What’s happening for the summer, though? I know someone’s moving out, right, so I gotta choose who I wanna live with full-time.”

They both nod.

“We didn’t want it to come down to that, but that’s how it’s going to be,” Steve says. “Pop is staying here. I’m going Upstate to Grandpa Joe’s summer house for the season until I can find a place in this area that’ll accommodate work and school for you.”

Peter had been to Joe’s summer house a sum of three times, all at ages where he couldn’t remember his own name.

“You’re old enough to be included in these kinds of matters, and we wouldn’t wanna make plans that affect all of us without your input,” Steve continues with authority filling his voice with each word in that amazing way that makes Peter see him as nothing short of a superhero, and he almost feels like a little kid again.

“Wherever you decide to go, we won’t take it personally if you choose one over the other,” Tony adds, shrugging nonchalantly.

He’d much rather stay in Queens, but he’s not sure how to let them know that without making it appear that he’s choosing Pop over Dad—he’d never be able to do that. By the time school starts back up in the fall, he can alternate between both homes.

Peter’s lip curls in decisive thought. “Can I have a minute to think about it?”

Peter doesn’t need a minute to think about anything, but he’d rather not feel like the worst son ever when he tells Dad that he wants to stay in Queens with Pop barely a second after giving him such an option.

“Of course,” Steve takes a seat across from Peter. “There’s no rush. I’m leaving next week anyway, so you have plenty of time.”

That’s too much time.

Lucky for Peter, the timer on the oven rings aloud, indicating that the lasagna is down. Steve grabs an oven mitt and places the dish on the stove to cool.

Tony keeps his eyes on his son. “Anything else you wanna know?”

At the moment, a question escapes Peter. He wanted to know everything, but with the fact that he’s spending the majority of the summer with his Pop on his mind, he can’t think of a single one.

“No, Pop,” he answers, casting a sullen look to the back of his Dad’s head.

He’s really going to miss him over the next two months.

 

\- - 

 

Later that night when their stomachs are full of lasagna and brownies, the kitchen is cleaned, and everyone has retired to their respective bedrooms, Peter FaceTimes Ned.

He picks up on the first ring. “So?” Ned inquires. His face is off camera but Peter can hear him shuffling about in the background.

“Everything went kinda okay,” he tells his friend. “We talked everything out for the most part, and I guess everything’s okay right now.”

“That’s good,” Ned declares.

Peter plays with a loose string at the hem of is pajama shirt sleeve absently. “Yeah, I came home and the weirdos were cooking together as if they hadn’t casually told me they’re not in love anymore.”

“That’s... _okay_?”

“Yeah, it’s odd, right? Of course, even as they’re going through a damn divorce they manage to be the corniest people alive,” Peter scoffs, pretending he secretly doesn’t love it when he aggressively does. “But they did mention about living arrangements.”

“How’d that go?”

Peter stares up at his ceiling. “Pop is staying here in Queens, but Dad is going Upstate for the summer until he can find something for us close to Midtown.”

Ned’s face comes into view now. “So, they’re making you choose,” he concludes, narrowing his eyes at his best friend.

“I’m obviously staying in Queens.”

“So, you’re not gonna see your dad all summer?”

Peter switches over to his side and brings the phone closer to his face. “I’m sure Pop’ll send me up there for a weekend or two. He’ll be back in town by the end of summer, so that’s that.”

Ned nods, quirking an eyebrow up. “You seem too chill for this.”

“Buddy, I’m freaking the hell out.”

That’s not a lie in the slightest.

Peter has one of the most subtle panic attacks he’d ever experienced that night after he and Ned said their good nights. He isn’t wheezing or sweating, or any other characteristic of panic attacks he’s had in the past, but he’s instead lying there in his bed as he stares at the ceiling some more with tears clouding his eyes.

They’ve talked it out— _why is he still so upset?_

He doesn’t manage to drift asleep until three in the morning, but he wakes several hours later to the sun infiltrating his room with rummages of activity going on downstairs jerking him awake.

After using the bathroom, Peter goes downstairs for juice and finds Steve there with a mug of coffee steaming around his mouth while he scrolls his smartphone.

“‘Morning, Peter!” he says excitedly when he sees his son walk in.

“Hey, Dad,” he grumbles, still half asleep as he zombie shuffles to the refrigerator. “Where’s Pop?”

“Out with your Uncle Rhodey.”

“Hmmm,” Peter hums and pours a glass of orange juice for himself.

Now is the most appropriate time to tell Steve that he wants to stay in Queens with Pop for the summer, but he is not ready for how his Dad would react. Steve is a big softy under that intimidating six-two stance, massive muscles, and life threatening glare. He also has this patented “Dad face of disappointment” that could make Peter feel like guilty for poverty if he wanted to.

With his gut twisted in nerves and mouth dry despite the orange juice he’d just gulped down, Peter sits at the island stool beside Steve with his empty glass and just about dies at the warm smile Dad gives his way.

Already hating himself for this, Peter turns to his father. “Hey, um, Dad?” he mutters.

“Hmmph?” Steve grunts.

“You remember how you and Pop were saying I can go with either of you for the summer?”

Immediately Steve’s attention is drawn from his phone and he looks directly in Peter’s eyes with an eagerness so precious and vibrant that it resembles a puppy or a newborn baby.

“Yeah?”

Peter’s throat bobs when he gulps another time. “If it’s okay, I wanna stay here in Queens.”

Peter made sure to mention Queens and not Pop to not lead his Dad to believe that he’s choosing one parent over the other, but Steve’s happy smile that once spanned from dimple to dimple falters to a thin lipped line anyway.

“Oh,” he replies, looking down. “Oh, okay, Peter, that’s fine. I guess that’d be easier anyway.”

“It’s not like I’m choosing Pop over you, or—”

“No, I get it, son,” Steve insists, looking back down at his phone in feigned concentration. He holds that pose for a short minute, definitely not convincing Peter that he “gets it.”

With as much nerve wracking build up attached to telling his Dad that, not an ounce of relief washes over Peter when Steve pats him on the back and rushes out of the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fuckers, here's an update. Big thanks to my girl in the chair, HalcyonSeasons for being the best beta that has ever graced a fanfiction platform. Run her her damn-ass cheque,
> 
> Yes, I really enjoy the theories ya'll have on why Steve and Tony are getting divorced, but I promise everything will be explained soon...ish. Meanwhile, have some angst! *throws chapter and runs*

The following week, a moving company is at the Stark residence removing Steve’s belongings from the home to be in storage until Steve can find a new house for himself and Peter. The majority of his clothes, artwork from his at-home studio, and furniture from his office only occupy one small truck.  
  
Peter made it his mission to not be around to watch his Dad’s things be put on the truck outside their house because if he were, he’s positively sure that he’ll snatch a piece of art or two from one of the movers and claim that there’s a mistake because no one is going anywhere.  
  
The crushed expression on Dad’s face that day still makes Peter’s stomach churn if he imagines it even a week later. Pop was ecstatic about keeping him for the summer when he’d told Tony his decision, and that made him feel worse.  
  
Even though he definitely enjoyed his time with Ned and a few of the other kids from the Academic Decathlon team at Coney Island for the day, Peter spaced out every other moment that he wasn’t solely occupied on the fun chaos around him to think about whether or not he’ll go home to just Pop.  
  
Peter thanks Ned’s mother for the ride home and promises Ned that he’ll call him later when they pull up to his house. There’s no moving truck in sight, but the journey from the car up the porch and inside the house feels unfamiliar. With his key in the door, he waves to Mrs. Leeds and pushes through the threshold.  
  
The change in the air is obvious just from the first few steps into the house. The walls in the front walkway no longer hold the artwork and portraits Steve had done over the years, but Peter pretends not to notice.  
  
He peers into the living room and sees Tony on the loveseat watching a movie by himself. He doesn’t look immensely crushed from Steve moving out the way Peter had hoped he would, but he’d rather have this than Tony popping champagne for today’s events.  
  
Just as Peter had thought, Steve is gone.  
  
He hadn’t even said goodbye.  
  
Maybe his Dad really is mad at him for staying in Queens.  
  
Definitely ready to cry, Peter backs out of the living room archway to retire upstairs. He’ll talk to his Pop tomorrow.

 

 - -

 

In the midst of Peter’s slumber that night, he is startled awake by an urgent knock on his bedroom door. Before fully registering that someone is on the other side, he checks the time in his blurry half awake state. It’s half past four in the morning, and Peter is fully prepared to be annoyed as any teenager trying to catch up on sleep would be when he unlocks his door and swings it open.  
  
Steve is standing there, clad in workout attire, a baseball cap, and a bomber jacket with his hands deep in its pockets. A duffel bag full of what must be clothes lays at his feet, and his expression is an unreadable mix of sadness, relief, and shame.  
  
Peter sobers up in an instant, wiping the crust from his eyes to make sure he’s seeing the man in front of him and not still in bed dreaming.  
  
“Dad,” he whispers in shock.  
  
Steve half-smiles down at him. “Sorry for waking you up at this hour, but I didn’t get a chance to see you when you came home earlier.”  
  
“Where were you?”  
  
“I was moving some of my stuff to the lake house. I’m on my way out for good now, and I wanted to make sure I told you goodbye since I don’t know when I’ll see you next.”  
  
_For good._  
  
I don’t know when I’ll see you next.  
  
Those particular words stick, and Peter thinks he’s going to be sick.  
  
However, he is relieved to know that Steve wasn’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye.  
  
“Oh,” Peter says. “I was a little worried when I didn’t see you when I got in.”  
  
“Worried about what?”  
  
Peter’s face flushes scarlet. “I didn’t think you’d wanna say goodbye or see me ‘cus I’m staying here.”  
  
Steve’s face drops, and without thinking, he embraces Peter. Like a toddler, Peter automatically falls into his father’s touch with his arms wrapped around his waist and head tucked into his chest.  
  
“Oh, Petey, I’m not mad,” Steve says, running his fingers through his son’s wavy hair. “And even if I was, I wouldn’t not say goodbye. We gave you a choice, and you made it. Everything’s okay.”  
  
“Didn’t want you thinking I chose Pop over you,” Peter confesses, his words lost and muffled in Steve’s pecs but his Dad picks them up anyway.  
  
“I didn’t think that at all. I know you just want this to be easy, and you wanna stay in Queens with Ned, all your friends, and Aunt May here,” Steve replies. “A part of me figured you’d wanna stay here to keep things as regular as possible.”  
  
Peter pulls back to look up at Steve. “I do wanna visit, though.”  
  
“Of course!” Steve agrees, giving him a genuine smile now. “Peter, you know it’s no problem if you wanna come up and spend a few nights.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
Peter smiles back. “And I could bring Ned sometime?”  
  
“Yeah, buddy, whatever you want.”  
  
Peter wonders if Ned had ever been fishing, and if not, he’d be honored to learn with him when the opportunity arises. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
“Anything for my favorite son.”  
  
“Only son,” Peter corrects playfully and goes back in to hug Steve tighter. “I love you, Dad.”  
  
Over the moon with emotion, Steve pats Peter’s back and hugs him close. “I love you, too, Petey. I’ve gotta go now, okay?”  
  
Peter pulls away even though he’s not ready to let go. “Have a safe trip.”  
  
“I will. And I’ll call you when I get settled.”  
  
Peter nods. “Bye, Dad.”  
  
“I’ll see you, son.”  
  
Steve leaves him with one last smile before picking his bag up to sling over his shoulder and trotting down the stairs with his house keys jingling in his pocket with each bounce. The door is opening and shutting in the time that Peter rushes over to the window above his bed to watch his Dad leave the porch and follow the walkway to a black pickup truck parked on the curb.  
  
Steve tosses his duffel into the back and much to Peter’s surprise, he gets in on the passenger’s side. The atmosphere is too dark and the windows are tinted too much to make out a figure in the driver’s seat.  
  
The truck sits there for another short while before driving forward down the street and out of Peter’s sight. Momentarily, tears build in his eyes at the sight of Dad, but they fall out and dry when he replays their conversation in his head.

  
With the relief that his Dad doesn’t hold anything against him about his decision, Peter falls back to sleep effortlessly, finally at ease for the first time in a week.

 

\- - 

  
  
Not having Steve around the house for the first few days saddens Peter, and living with just Tony proves to be just as abnormal as he had originally thought. It was weird to yell out for Steve and no one came; Tony forgets to respond only because he is used to being referred to as “Pop,” but Peter doesn’t fault him for it.  
  
To avoid being reminded of the situation, Peter spends more time out of the house, so today, he and Ned are at the community pool.  
  
It’s late in the afternoon and majority of the neighborhood kids that attend Midtown are scattered throughout either swimming, selling food and merchandise at the concession stand, tanning on the bleachers, or sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet dipped in like Peter and Ned.  
  
Neither of them are good swimmers, so they take comfort in people watching. While Ned watches a game of chicken between freshman and seniors, Peter’s attention is directed to the opposite side of the pool where Liz—the recently graduated senior that Peter has had a crush on since he first laid eyes on her his freshman year—and her group of friends participate in a game of water volleyball.  
  
Peter feels himself staring too hard for too long but he can’t look away from her. She’s taller than Peter and instead of intimidating him, it makes him all the more gushed about her. Her smile is dazzling, her eyes are entrancing, and she’s got a personality that keeps Peter yearning for more with every conversation he’s had with with her.  
  
He sighs, hanging his head down. Why hasn’t he ever told her the truth? She’s not the type to laugh if he were to.  
  
Ned pokes his arm. “What’s up?”  
  
Peter lifts his head to look over at Liz again. She’s not paying any attention to him as she appears to be having fun splashing around with her friends.  
  
“I’ve spent almost four years of my life pining after Liz and never told her,” he says, shaking his head. “Either I’m really stupid or I love being in pain.”  
  
Ned side eyes him. “Explain.”  
  
Peter meets Ned’s gaze. “Liz isn’t gonna want anything to do with me once she leaves for school, right?” Peter asks, hopefully expecting his best friend to disagree and offer something encouraging.  
  
Instead, Ned nods in all seriousness. “Right!”  
  
“Spending a third of my high school experience avoiding my feelings for her was a dumbass move, huh?”  
  
“You’ve done dumber, but this is kinda up there.”  
  
“Why didn’t you ever tell me I was being dumb?”  
  
“I just assumed you kinda knew.”  
  
Peter exhales and looks back over in Liz’s general direction. “I wish I had the nerve to say something.”  
  
“She’s going to Oregon in two months, and when she’s there she could meet a six-four, surfer, demi-god type,” Ned reminds him. “That’s not giving you any nerve?”  
  
“You think they have those kinds of guys in Oregon?”  
  
Ned thinks about it. “Well, no, but if it means anything, I’d choose you over any guy that’s in Oregon.”  
  
Instinctively, Peter’s cheeks flush beet red. “Shut up, Ned,” he brushes it off. “What do you think I should do?”  
  
“Well, sitting and staring isn’t going to resolve anything.”  
  
“Why? It’s how I flirt!” Not that Peter has any experience in flirting or so much as asking someone he’s attracted to borrow a pencil. 

Ned rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. “Honestly? Just go up to her and compliment her hair or something. My Dad says little things like that matter to girls.”  
  
Peter nods in agreement first then shakes his head. “Dad taught me women are never wrong about anything, and to this day, I’ve never met a girl who wasn’t right about something. Like Aunt May! It must be exhausting being right about everything as often as she is.”

“So how are you gonna approach her?”

 Peter hasn’t the slightest idea and thinking about it makes his chest hurt with emotion. “It doesn’t have to be today, Ned. I have all summer to make a move.”

 “That procrastination mentality is why you’re where you are, Peter. Liz isn’t gonna wait forever for you to come around if you ever decide to.”

 “Yeah, but, what am I supposed to do? Just go up to her and say ‘hey, Liz, I like your hair! You’re pretty as hell, and I’ve wanted to take you on a date since freshman year but I’ve been too scared to ask you ‘cus I’m sure you’d say no ‘cus you’re way out of my league’?”

 Ned blinks at his friend, slightly amused by Peter’s dramatic demeanor. If there’s anything Peter had taken from Steve, it’s the colossal urge to make everything more outlandish than needed.

 “Gosh, this would be so much easier if she weren’t so nice. And pretty. And smart.” Peter exhales in defeat, looking back up at Liz to see that she’s climbing out of the pool to dry off, still laughing with her friends and incredibly unbothered.

 “You’re all those things, too,” Ned reminds him, but Peter shakes his head in disagreement.

 His chest clenches another time, utterly hopeless as to what to do with the conflicting mix of feelings about his parents and Liz building in him. If he could, Peter would talk to both of his fathers about what to do despite him being sure neither of them have ever been with the opposite sex.

 “Yeah, right,” Peter mumbles, and without thinking anything of it, he holds his breath to dunk himself beneath the surface of the water.

 The two of them spend another couple of hours at the pool swimming, eating, and hanging out with some of the neighborhood kids. The air is chilly but bearable, the water in the pool is glittering under the faded moonlight, and the occupancy has thinned out in the last two hours, leaving just Liz and her friends, Peter and Ned, other locals, and a few cool kids on the side of the pool Peter recognizes as Flash’s friends.

 Peter and Ned, now dry and clad in basketball shorts and t-shirts, sit on the bleachers under the dim orange illumination of the street lights enjoying their ice cream when they notice it’s nearing seven o’ clock, and they need to leave soon if they want to make it home in time for dinner.

 Even though Peter is a professional at pretending Liz doesn’t exist when she’s looking, he can’t help stealing a final glance her way when he and Ned walk through the chain link fence and onto the sidewalk.

 What Peter doesn’t expect is Liz to be watching him, and the pain in his chest blossoms into a full body shudder when their eyes meet for a split second before he tears his glance away.

 It almost didn’t feel real, so when he looks again, he can’t help the immense emotion that overtakes him when Liz is actually fucking smiling at him.

 Him!

 She’s smiling at _him_?

 Like the oblivious lovestruck boy that he is, Peter checks behind him to see if there’s someone else who has her attention. Ned is mounting his bike chained to the bike rack, but he’s not even looking.

 Peter turns forward again and instead of seeing Liz’s warm smile, she’s walking down the bleachers.

 To him?

 She’s coming to talk to him?

 Peter confusedly looks behind him again, and when he’s sure her smile is aimed at him, he finds the courage to make his legs move toward her despite how heavy they feel.

 The edges of his vision blur around her, making her the primary focus while the sound reaching his ears is muffled, his body goes numb, and the aftertaste of his strawberry shortcake lingers on his tongue.

 In the seconds it takes for her to reach him, he’s mentally trying his damndest to not make a fool of himself, but that’s hard to do when all he can wonder is what would possess her to even think about talking to him? What have they to talk about?

 She’s acknowledging his existence, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d swear this was all some hazy, rose-colored hallucination where classical music is playing, flowers fall from the sky, his heart isn’t ready to thump out of his chest, she’s wearing a wedding dress and holding a bouquet…

 “Peter,” she says once gently, breaking through the fantasy and brining Peter’s brain back to reality.

 “ _Elizabeth_ ,” he nearly exclaims out, and if she hadn’t giggled at that, Peter would’ve drowned himself in the pool. “Wh-what’s up?”

 “Nothing much,” she answers, fiddling with the hem of her denim shorts. “Haven’t seen you since school got out.”

 “Yeah, school,” he gulps. “Out. Haven’t seen you. Either. How ya been?”

 Liz smiles to the side and shrugs slightly. “Been okay. What about you?”

 With no finesse or knowhow on speaking to this girl, Peter blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “My parents are getting a divorce.”

 Behind him, Peter can hear Ned sigh loudly.

 Instead of responding with nonchalance like he had hoped, her thick eyebrows scrunched together with a wrinkle in the middle and she frowns down at him. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry to hear that, Peter.”

 “It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s clearly not. “They’re gay, so it’s gonna be okay. I think.”

 Ned sighs again. Peter can’t blame him.

 Liz nods, unsure, but she hasn’t dropped her smile yet. “Good to know.”

 “Yeah,” he exhales.

 (Will someone please shoot him? Set him on fire? Break both of his knees? Anything to get him out of here.)

 She doesn’t let the silence drag for too long despite the awkward tension. “So, um, I came over to ask if you and Ned wanted to hang out with us tomorrow? My parents are away for the week and we were just gonna have a movie night in my basement. You wanna come?”

 “Yes!” Ned jumps in, suddenly behind him, making Peter flinch. “We’d love to come! What movies we talking?”

 Liz puts a lock of damp hair behind her ear, switching between making googly eyes at Peter’s stunned expression and remaining cool. “Um, I know you guys like _Star Wars_ , so yeah, um, we could watch that if you want.”

 She knows they like _Star Wars_.

 Peter would have died on the spot if Ned’s hands weren’t braced on his shoulders keeping his upright.

 “Okay, yeah!” Ned nods, glances at Peter and nudges for him to do the same. Peter cannot stop staring at Liz, but he’s too far beyond embarrassed to even try not to.

 He nods shortly, smiling too widely to be normal.“Yeah. That’s... _yeah_ ,” he agrees.

 “Yeah?” Liz nods too.

 Ned glances between the two of them, practically enlightened by the blatant oblivion of fascination for the other both of them are exhibiting.

 “Well, great!” She’s saying, nervously holding her arms to her chest close. “I’ll hope to see you there then. Tomorrow at seven, okay?”

 “We’ll be there!” Ned tells her, waving as she walks backwards a few steps before turning and rejoining her friends.

 Peter comes back to life when their entire interaction processes in his head, and although he’d made the fool that he said he wouldn’t make of himself, he has every reason to not want to die now. The entire bike ride home is a daze, and Peter barely comprehends anything Ned is saying until they’re at Ned’s house, and he invites him in for a moment.

 “Hey, Mrs. Leeds!” Peter announces with a polite wave when they pass by the den where Ned’s mother is engrossed in her soap operas. She kindly waves back with a distracted “Hey, Pete!”

 “I didn’t look too stupid talking to her, did I?” Peter asks curiously, still reeling the conversation back even almost an hour later.

 “I mean besides the fact that you looked like your heart busted a fat-ass nut? Not really,” Ned assures him, tossing him a water from the fridge when they reach the kitchen. Until Peter gulps the entire thing down, he hasn’t realized how dry his mouth was.

 Mrs. Leeds tries convincing Peter to stay for dinner, but he declines and tells Ned that he’ll call him later on his way out of the door. From Ned’s neighborhood to his own, Peter hums to himself, still in shock but jubilant over how his day had turned out.

 Not even Dad’s absence was enough to bring him down as the reminder dawned on him when he steps into the eerily quiet house.

 “Pop?” Peter shouts out with no response following. The lower level is dark, so Peter switches the lights on as he skips merrily to the kitchen where he finds a fifty dollar bill on the counter.

 Perplexed, Peter checks his phone for any missing texts from either of his parents and stumbles upon one from Pop a couple of hours ago.

  _Urgent business, kiddo. Left $ for dinner in the kitchen! Will be back later tonight!_

In Tony’s line of work, “urgent business” was a regular occurrence so thinking nothing of it, Peter orders himself a large cheese pizza and tips generously when the delivery boy arrives.

 After stuffing his face, Peter goes up to his room and rummages through his closet in search of an outfit suitable for Liz’s movie party.

 The thing is, Peter has nice clothes, but he has no idea how to style himself for anything if it doesn’t involve hanging out with friends or going to school. Are jeans and a t-shirt going to cut it? Maybe he could wear those brand-new Jordans that still sit in the box Steve had gotten for him with some distressed light wash jeans? A black hoodie? Maybe a watch just to show he can tie it all together? Ultimately, Peter knows he’s overthinking it—it’s a movie night, not a fashion show—but that doesn’t deter him from rummaging for outfit possibilities through his closet and dresser. Not before long, clothes are flung and strewn everywhere on his floor and bed and the camera roll on his phone consists of multiple selfies in different outfits.

 Tony could help him whenever he got home.

 If Tony came home.

 

 - -

 

The digital clock on Peter’s phone reads that it’s officially midnight, and Tony still isn’t home.

 By ten, Peter gets worried, but he trusts that whatever business Tony is attending to is important enough to take up this much time and distract him from sending a follow-up text to Peter. He sends a few of his own, and immediate fear washes over him when he doesn’t receive a reply.

 

 - - 

 

One-thirty in the morning rolls around, and Peter has no idea what to do. After calling several times with no answer, Peter paces the room anxiously, thinking of every horrific possibility as to why he hasn’t heard back from Tony.

Should he call Ned? Dad? May? The police?

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters.

 

\- - 

 

In the midst of his panic, Peter miraculously falls asleep around three and jerks awake two hours later when his subconscious reminds him that Pop could possibly be dead or missing. He checks his phone in a frantic and there’s still nothing.

 

 

\- - 

 

Peter awakes again slowly at eight to the sun beaming in his face. He still has on one of the outfits he’d been trying on with his body uncomfortably contorted above the covers. He’s up in an instant, phone in hand as he rushes out of his room with pure adrenaline carrying him since he’s tired and barely coherent.

 “Pop?” he yells out and checks the master bedroom that looks like it hasn’t been touched since yesterday morning.

 “What the fuck?” Peter grumbles, taking the stairs two at a time downstairs. “Pop?!”

 He almost doesn’t expect an answer, but his heart leaps with relief when he hears the morning news, smells coffee brewing, and his Pop shouts out, “In here, kiddo!”

 Tony is at the counter pouring himself a mug of coffee when Peter enters. The first thing to be noticed is the bags drooping under Tony’s red-rimmed brown eyes, and Peter paused to stare at him.

 His father looks exhausted.

 Peter supposes being out all night working would make someone look this way; Tony has never been out all night, though, so he can’t determine exactly what—if not work—would make Tony’s face droop, his eyes dry with fatigue, and his posture to slouch.

 Immediate suspicion worries on Peter’s face. “H-h-hey, Pop. Are you okay? You didn’t—”

 Tony cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m really sorry about that, Petey. Some stuff at work got crazy, and I had to stay a little behind, but it’s nothing your Pop couldn’t fix!”

 “Oh,” he says, narrowing his eyes downward.

 Peter would be halfway convinced of that statement if Pop hadn’t called him by that goddamn nickname. Peter doesn’t know whether to be concerned or furious that Tony is definitely lying.

  _Or hiding something…_

 “How was your night?” he asks casually, setting the pot back in the coffee maker then stirring the beverage with a spoon.

 The teen has to fight not to scoff. “Well, I was up half the night wondering where you were and if you were okay.”

 Tony shrugs much to casually for the subject matter, shielding a frown with a very put-on smirk. “Well, I’m here now, Petey. Everything is good.”

 Peter narrows his eyes and nervously shifts his weight from foot to foot in an uncomfortable waddle towards the fridge. “Nothing you wanna tell me?”

 His Pop shakes his head. “Nothing.”

 “Nothing,” Peter repeats in disbelief and pulls out the carton of orange juice.

 “Nothing.”

 _Nothing_.  
Tony turns his back to Peter now to pour sugar and creamer into his coffee. Peter glances away to mentally assured he’s equipped for whatever is about to go down, because he can definitely tell something is.  There’s a quietness that drapes over the two of them. It’s a silence so loud that it challenges either of them to say something... _anything_.

But neither do for a long while as Tony scrolls through his phone in amusement, reading the news, and sipping from his cup every few seconds while Peter pours himself a glass of juice and gulps the entire thing down.

 Unsure of where to take this, Peter washes his cup out and makes to leave just as Tony looks up from whatever he was giggling at on his phone.

 “Ya know, Dad really misses you,” he says out of nowhere.

 Peter nods. “Yeah.”

 “Talked to him lately?”

 Peter thinks about it. “I was gonna call today.”

 Tony’s dead eyes lighten up. “Perfect!” he exclaims. “How’s a week up there sound?”

 “We’d talked about me visiting but not until—-”

 “I just think he’d really appreciate you going up there to see him soon.” Tony sets his mug down and runs a tired hand through his tousled greying hair in a way that tells him this conversation is boring and he will get what he wants regardless of the fight.

 Peter is used to this dismissive side of his Pop—he’s witnessed it first hand many times whenever he tagged along with Tony to work. What he isn’t used to is the attitude being used on _him_ , and it strikes Peter at an odd place.

 “Soon,” Peter repeats. “How soon?”

 Tony barely blinks as he says, “Tonight.”

 “Tonight?” Peter’s eyes almost bulge through their sockets. “I-I-I can’t! I have a thing tonight with—” 

 “Petey, you’ll see Ned all summer and the rest of year. You’ll survive one week without hanging with him.”

 “No, Pop, that’s not it at all. I’m going to another friend’s party, and it’s really important I go!”

 Tony chuckles softly at his son’s babbling and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Okay, fine, you can go to this party. How do you feel about taking a bus up there first thing in the morning?”

 If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d think his Pop is trying to get rid of him. “That’s fine,” he agrees anyway. “I’ll go call Dad, then.”

 “Perfect!” Tony exclaims again, almost too excited about this.

 All Peter can do is nod and go back to his room, slightly hurt and very confused about what is happening.

 

 - -

 

Peter actively avoids Tony for the remainder of the day.

He skips dinner considering he’ll be eating at Liz’s, and instead gets ready two hours in advance.

 His shower is longer than any usual one he would’ve taken, leaving him squeaky clean with wrinkled fingertips. He shampoos then sets a deep conditioning in his hair for maximum softness should Liz—or _anybody_ —want to touch it. The likelihood is slim, but he’d rather be safe than sorry in the event any hair touching activities arise. His teeth and gums get brushed twice, flossed once, and rinsed with mouthwash maybe five times in case his mouth came in contact with _anybody’s_ —again, slim likelihood but he wants to be sure.

After shaving, washing his face, cleaning under his fingernails, and putting at least a pound of deodorant and cologne on, Peter stands in front of his closet just like the night before searching for an outfit. He considers calling Ned but decides not to since fashion isn’t one of his strengths either.

 This shouldn’t be as hard as he’s making it but someone like Peter doesn’t just get asked to hang out by someone like Liz everyday.

 Peter sighs and puts on a pair of white jogger sweatpants that make him look taller. He recalls buying these from a skater shop, but he’s never worn them out of the house. Steve hated them. Tony loved them.

 After searching through his closet again, he finds a white t-shirt. He looks like he stepped out of a Backstreet Boys music video, and he can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.

 Would sweats be too casual? It _is_ a movie night. Is white okay? What if he spills something on himself and it stains then he can’t change?  What if—  

 In the midst of his inner turmoil, a soft knock interrupts his thoughts. He turns away from the mirror to look at the door with uncertainty before looking back at his reflection.

 “Come in!”

 Tony’s head pokes in tentatively before his full body appears and he grimaced at the mess Peter had made. “Jesus,” he mutters at the array of clothes and accessories everywhere then looks up to his son. “That’s a nice combo.”

 “You think so?”

 “Yeah, Petey,” Tony nods, digging his hands deep in his pockets. “You look handsome.”

 He looks at Tony through the mirror and the expression worn on his face makes Peter's skin crawl. It’s tense for a long beat, and the way Peter’s glaring at his Pop demands to know what’s going on without a word to be uttered.

 He doesn’t even get to ask before Pop takes a seat on Peter’s bed on the only spot without clothes on it and announces, “Something’s come up. I need to leave for the night, and you’re gonna have to go to your Dad’s a little early.”

 A hollowness begins to form in the middle of Peter’s chest. “A little early. Like h-h-how early, Pop?”

 Tony cocks his head to the side in resolute to watch Peter closely. “Tonight. In about twenty minutes.”

 Peter nearly loses his balance as he swivels on his heels to turn to Tony. “ _Twenty minutes_? Whaddyou mean _twenty minutes_? Pop, I h-h-h-have the party—”

 Tony’s hands are up in defense to reduce Peter’s involuntary stuttering but it does nothing to stop the boy from losing his cool. “Peter.”

 “Whatever it is, I can take care of myself in the house for however long it is that you’re gone!” Peter reasons, but the unwavering manner in which Tony shakes his head is burning his words and turning them into ash.

 “I’ll spend the night at May’s!” he continues helplessly. “I promise I’ll keep the house clean and feed myself! Or fuck it, I’ll just go to Dad’s tomorrow. I just really need tonight, Pop! Please?”

 Tony stands, just barely taller than Peter. “Where did you get such a potty mouth from?”

 Peter’s eyes water. “ _Pop_ ,” he damn near growls.

 “Look, I’m sorry, son,” he tells him with a tired shrug. “I really am, but this is something I can’t put off, and it deserves my undivided attention.”

 “Okay, but what about me? I never go anywhere and I just need tonight. All I‘m asking for is tonight.”

 “There can’t be a tonight, Peter.”

 “Why?!”

 “Peter, please,” Tony tries, shutting his eyes, definitely trying to maintain patience. “I’m sorry. I really am. I was a teenager once too, and I understand how much these things mean. Trust me, I do. I wasn’t always an old man. But there’s some things that I need to take care of, and while I trust you to take care of yourself, it wouldn’t be fair to you or your Dad for you to just lounge around here by yourself when you could be with him.”

Frustrated, confused, and angry, Peter blinks back his tears but none of them fall. “Just tonight,” he repeats. “I’ll go first thing in the morning as planned. May could take me to the bus station and, ugh, and— I— _please_.”

The pity Tony feels isn’t lost on Peter, but he can’t fight the feeling that there’s malicious intent behind this absolutely fucked outcome to both of their nights.

 Tony gruffs. “I already bought your ticket, Peter. I’m sorry.”

 A numbness hosts itself within Peter’s muscles, leaving his movements languid as he spends the following twenty minutes packing a suitcase of clothes, toiletries, and his laptop. His mind is racing too slow yet too fast for him to get a grasp on the fact that he has to let Liz down and be away from Ned for a whole week without a proper goodbye.

The car ride from the house to the bus station is quiet aside for the rock music playing through the radio. Peter hides his sniffles in his palm, and Tony pretends not to hear them.

It’s a blur from then on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My girl in the chair, HalcyonSeasons came in clutch with the beta this chapter. I love her. Enjoy!

The bus ride to Ithaca from Queens is approximately six hours long. Three out of those hours Peter spends staring sadly out of the bus window, confused by what’s going on and why Pop is being so secretive. A part of him is surely bruised by how Pop didn’t consider his feelings, and that occupies the back of his mind more than missing the party does. Ned texted and called several times asking where he was, telling him Liz was upset he didn’t know, and that it wasn’t fun without him. Peter knows he’s just saying that to be nice.

Ned FaceTimes when Peter texts him that he’s on his way to his Dad’s lakehouse. The rest of the passengers are asleep, so Peter puts in his earphones and whispers when he answers the call.

 “What do you mean you’re on your way to your Dad’s lakehouse?” The screen is dark, but the action from the movie can be heard faintly in the background.

 “Exactly what I said,” Peter gruffs, situating himself in his seat to get comfortable again. “Pop had some urgent work stuff to deal with, so he chose that over me.”

 Ned sighs. “Peter—” 

 “He said it was really important and needed his undivided attention, and he didn’t wanna let me stay in the house by myself.”

 “You couldn’t just leave in the morning? Or stay with May?”

 Peter scoffs with a defeated shrug and continues staring out the window. It’s dark and he can’t make out much of anything of the passing scenery, but his frown stares back at him clear as day. “I asked if I could, but he was pretty insistent on getting me out of his way.”

 “Peter, I don’t think that’s what it is.”

 “What else could it have been? Ned, it’s like I was inconveniencing him and he wanted me out of his face as soon as possible.”

 Saying that aloud gets a painful lump clogging his throat.

 “Whatever it was that he was dealing with at work was just a little bit more important than me,” Peter concludes,  shaking his head. “Maybe he’s mad at me about something?”

 “Nothing you do could upset him so much that he just sends you away last minute. Your father is reasonable, Peter.”

 Reasonable is the last word to describe how Tony has been.

 So not to disturb other passengers, Peter and Ned say goodnight with promises to call each other tomorrow.

 More than anything, Peter would love to be with his best friend, but he can’t deny that he doesn’t miss Dad. They’ll spend their week swimming, fishing, cooking, sailing, and other fun stuff Steve promised, and for a second, there’s a light at the end of this very cloudy tunnel.

 

 -- 

 

Peter awakes just twenty minutes before the bus docks at the Greyhound station.

 Just as promised, Steve is waiting for him in the parking lot, and the sight of him has tears of relief prickling Peter’s bloodshot brown eyes. Thankfully it’s too dark outside for Steve to tell, therefore holding off any questions. He's leaning against that same black pickup truck that picked him up a couple weeks before, but Peter can’t be too concerned to care at the moment. It’s nearly two in the morning, he’s terribly upset, and the last chance he had with Liz just flew out the window.

 “Hey, Pete,” Steve greets him gingerly, arms spread and ready to receive Peter when he’s close enough to embrace. The duffel in his hands drops to the pavement the instant he falls into Steve’s arms.

 “Hi, Dad,” he murmurs, head laid against Steve’s pectoral right where he can hear a steady heartbeat. “Good morning.”

 Steve claps his shoulders twice. “How was the bus ride?”

 “Long. Uncomfortable. Dad, I’m hungry.”

 “You haven’t eaten?” Steve asks incredulously, looking down at his son in shock.

 Peter shakes his head back and forth.

 “Okay, kid,” he says. “There’s a twenty-four hour diner on the way to the house we can stop at. That sound good to you?”

 Peter shakes his head up and down now, tightening his grip around his Dad’s waist with whatever effort he can muster that wasn’t drained of him in the form of tears.

 Steve puts Peter’s duffel in the backseat of the pick up and drives to a cheeky diner about half an hour from the bus station and forty-five minutes from the lake house. The moment Steve enters the empty diner with Peter following behind, a fair-skinned brunette lady with swirly pinned curls wearing a black short sleeve and pencil skirt appears from what seems like thin air behind the bar. Upon seeing Steve, she discontinues stocking the milkshake glass display and a smile adorned with cherry red lipstick spans both ends of her face.

 “Steve,” she says in a crisp English accent, turning to lean against the counter. “It’s always nice to see your face at two in the morning.”

 Steve’s smile is small and tight like he’s embarrassed. Peter wouldn’t describe his Dad as a bashful man, but he figures someone as pretty as this woman could bring it out of anybody.

 “Hey, Peggy. It’s always good to see you, too,” he greets just as happily as he approaches the bar and takes a seat at one of the stationary swiveling stool in front of her. The two of them look at each other like they share a funny secret for a short while before Steve puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s been a while so I don’t know if you remember my son, Pe—”

 “ _Peter_ ,” she finishes, flashing a friendly smile his way. “How could I forget little Peter Benjamin?”

 Peter shyly returns the gesture with a tired wave. “Hi.”

 “It’s okay if you don’t know who I am, darling,” the lady—Peggy—insists with a shrug. “I’ve known your father for years, and I don’t expect you to remember some random lady holding you when you were a baby.”

 “She was top contender to being your god mom but Natasha threatened to skin me alive if I didn’t pick her,” Steve snickers, and Peggy’s brown eyes roll into a new dimension. Peter can definitely picture his godmother following through with such a threat.

 “Anyway,” Peggy says, now turning to Peter. “How old are you now, love?”

 “Sixteen. Turning seventeen this summer.”

 Peggy exhales deeply. “Seventeen,” she repeats. “Gosh, Steve, how long has it been since you’ve brought the lad up here? I’m feeling old.”

 “Well, as it turns out, Peter’s gonna be up here for the week, so they’ll be time to catch up.”

 “Really now?” Peggy sounds genuinely delighted at that. “Haven’t seen you in years, and now we get you for a whole week!”

 “Yeah,” Peter mumbles with a sideways nod. _A whole fucking week..._

 “Actually,” Steve starts, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs. “We stopped by because I just picked him up from the bus station, and he’s a little hungry.”

 Peggy nods. “What would you like?”

 Peter takes a seat in the stool next to Steve. “What do you have?”

 “Anything your heart could desire,” she promises. “In the mood for a little breakfast? A burger?”

 “Yeah, a burger sounds good right now,” he agrees, suppressing the growl his stomach lets out at the mention of food by adding on, “With fries.”

 She nods again and places a freshly manicured hand over Steve’s wrist. “Anything for you, darling?”

 Steve shakes his head. “Nothing for me, but you-know-who would kill me if I didn’t bring him back a piece of your amazing chocolate cake.”

 “Burger for the boy and a slice of cake for the man-child coming right up,” Peggy teases, disappearing behind a sheer curtain separating the kitchen from the dining area.

 Steve laughs to himself then glances at Peter. “You must be exhausted.”

 “Very.”

 “I figured. Don’t worry—one meal here and you’ll be out like a light.”

 Peter nods then points to the curtain Peggy had gone through. “Who is she exactly?”

 Steve grins. “That’s your unofficial aunt Peggy. Our parents were friends, so we’ve known each other since we were practically babies. She doesn’t let me forget how much of a skinny punk I was either.”

 “Does Pop know her?”

 “Of course. She was at our wedding, and whenever she could make a trip to the city, she’d come see us, but eventually stopped coming ‘cus she inherited this place from her grandmother.” 

 “She owns this place?”

 “Mhm,” Steve hums. “We tried to make it up here as often as possible, but Pop and I just got really busy, ya know?”

 Certainly Pop knows how to stay busy. “I see.”

 About twenty minutes later, Peggy emerges from the back with a styrofoam to-go container containing a single slice of chocolate cake and Peter’s burger. He forgets his manners and tears into the food like it’s his last meal while Peggy and Steve converse about something that isn’t Peter’s hunger therefore he can’t bring himself to care or listen.

 “What are the plans for tomorrow?” Peggy asks as she wipes down the counter with a warm cloth after taking Peter’s bare plate away.

 Steve shrugs. “It’s whatever Peter wants to do.”

 Absolutely full to his limit, Peter also shrugs. “Sleeping,” he mutters. Steve was definitely right about being out like a light.

 “Well, I’m sure you guys will find something,” Peggy laughs, watching as Peter puts his head on the counter and fight to keep both of his eyes open.

 In a post-burger blur, Peter barely recalls leaving the diner. He remembers a faint “Thanks again, Peggy!” followed by a “See you, Steve! Bye, Peter!” before Ithaca’s warm nightly breeze brushes his face on the way to the car.

 “Bet you’re ready to pass out now, huh?” Steve is laughing.

 Peter flushes. “Take me home, please.”

 

 - -

 

Home is a cozy and contemporary lake house right on the water of Cayuga Lake, surrounded by the high spirited green and brown forest down a secluded, windy, dirt road. Night sounds like crickets and frogs fill the early morning air while the stars glitter clear as crystal against the navy sky.

 The property looks bigger than what Peter remembers.

 Steve parks the car in the garage upon arrival and kills the engine. Peter is already unbuckling his seatbelt, but a large hand on his chest stops him before he can open the door.

 “I just want you to know I’m happy you’re here, son,” he confesses. “Despite the circumstances, I’m really proud you made this trip, and I’m sorry about everything going on with Pop. I know it’s not fair.”

 “S’okay.” Even though it’s really not okay in the slightest.

 “I promise everything will be fine by the time you get home. We wanna make this the best time we can for you.”

 Peter squints tiredly at him. “ _We_ ,” he repeats.

 Steve nods, pointer fingers tapping nervously on the leather of the steering wheel.

 “Someone else is staying with you.” Peter is way too sleepy to deal with this.

 “Um, yeah, someone is,” his Dad stammers, managing to meet his eyes about once while his cheeks turn beet red. “I was going to tell you about him a little later on in the summer when your Pop and I could have planned something more stable.”

 “ _Him_ ,” he says. “So, is this like a roommate type deal or—”

 Steve winces. “Jesus, Peter, you’re gonna make me spell this out to ya, huh?”

 Peter’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “I’m—I don’t—?”

 “Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, huh?” Steve suggests recognizing that Peter’s lack of coherence is due to fatigue.

 Steve opens his door, grabbing Peter’s duffel bag and the takeout box from the back, then locks the truck before entering through the garage door. Peter follows, shutting the garage door behind him and instantly, a homey vibe hits him at his core when he takes in all of Steve’s art on the wall and his cologne permeating the warm cabin interior.

 “Wow,” he utters, taken aback at how much like their Queens mansion the Grandpa Joe’s lake house is. “ _Wow_.”

 “This way, buddy,” Steve calls from down the hall where the stairs start. “I’ll show you to your room.”

 It’s eerily quiet aside from the creaking of their feet under the wooden floorboards and the very faint outside through the brick walls. Steve leads Peter down the hallway to presumably his room, opens the door, and flicks the ceiling fan light on. It’s a generic guest room decorated in beige and white with a single cactus plant in the windowsill.

 “You can decorate however you want,” Steve tells him, putting his duffel on the full size bed. “It’s your space now.”

 “I’m not gonna be here that long to wanna decorate,” Peter quips without realizing how rude that sounded even when he catches his Dad’s crestfallen look to the champagne colored carpet.

 “Right,” he agrees and rubs the nape of his neck. “Well, it’s late and I know you wanna get to sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow.”

 “Hmmm…” Peter then flops face first onto the mattress, not even bothering to strip and get under the comforter before passing out for good. Steve listens to his son snore for a moment before flicking the light switch and shutting the door.

 

 - -

 

There’s no lawn mower or traffic on the street outside to awake Peter the following morning. Momentarily, he believes he’s still dreaming when he takes in the unfamiliar room but soon after, he remembers what happened earlier that morning and sinks back into the mattress.

 He exhales.

Peter rolls out of the bed to stretch, groaning aloud with his arms stiffly shaking above his head while his brain and other bodily functions come back to life.

 Outside the bay window is a clear view of the long wooden dock and the teal lake glittering under the ray of the just arisen sun. There’s trees on the other side of the lake swaying and brushing blissfully into each other with the wind to carry them.

 All things considered, it’s not the worst view he could have woken up to.

 He digs through his duffel for lounge clothes to change into and checks his phone.

 It’s nine in the morning, and Ned sent him a good morning text that puts smile on his face. He texts back kissy face emojis then checks his social media feeds for another few minutes before his grumbling stomach distracts him.

 Hopefully his Dad is willing to make breakfast.

 Peter slips on a pair of sneakers and pokes his head out of the room to soak in the comfortable silence of the lake house. It’s quite nice.

 He goes downstairs hoping to expect his Dad in the kitchen but is instead greeted with more silence and the soft chirp of birds and other woodland creatures outside. The kitchen is smaller than the one back in Queens, decorated in a rustic fashion with a brown, red, and white color palette and older appliances. It’s nothing Peter is used to but it’s comforting nonetheless.

The pantry is nearly empty, but the fridge is stocked with fruits, vegetables, lunch meats, bread, dairy products, juice, and various other foods Peter could attempt to cook.

Of all the meals he’s imagining, a small styrofoam to-go container grabs his attention instead and his stomach cries of happiness when he opens the container and sees the most delectable slice of chocolate cake to ever grace his vision.

 “Oh, boy!” he cheers, taking the container out the fridge and rummaging through a drawer to find a fork.

 The first bite has him moaning and just about dancing with joy around the kitchen, completely unaware of his surroundings anymore as he takes bite after bite of the dessert. The cake itself is just the right amount of moist to where Peter barely has to swallow. The frosting between each layers is silky in texture, vibrant with flavor, and rich in taste. Every aftertaste is better than the last as it leaves a magical twinge in the back of his thr— 

 “Is that my cake?”

 Like a bullet out of a gun, Peter is quickly jerked out of his euphoria by the gruff and startling growl behind him, sending chills down his spine, forming goosebumps on his arms, and tensing his shoulders all as his heart leaps halfway out his chest when he spins to face the voice and drops the remainder of the cake into the wooden kitchen floor.

 There before him is what Peter can best describe as a brick wall with legs.

 If you could call thighs with muscles like that legs?

 Tree trunks seems like a more appropriate term.

The man is easily his Dad’s height, but he’s certainly thicker than him in the torso and limbs. His huge tattooed arms— _is it possible for someone’s arms to be that large too? Who needs shoulder muscles that size?_ —are crossed over his chest while one of his hips is jutted out confidently, his lips are a thin line of disappointment, and his steel gray eyes are flashing between the discarded dessert and straight through Peter’s soul.

 His neck length hair is a dark chestnut brown, parted down the middle and surprisingly soft-looking despite the Mack truck body, deadly glare, and imposing presence.

 Peter is sure he has died and this is the devil himself because there’s no way any normal man should look this intimidating by just standing there.

 Peter gulps.

 “Ugh...um, er, we, I didn’t—it’s not—,” he stutters under the man’s harsh stare. “I’m—didn’t know it’s—you’re, um...er—” 

 The man still doesn’t say anything as Peter’s brain competes with his mouth for something intelligible to say which only makes him panic more.

 “I’m s-s-s-sorry, sir,” he’s saying, pointing pathetically at the poor cake splattered on the floor. “I was, um, er, hungry, and—” 

 “You usually just go around eating random food out of other people’s fridges?”

 Peter shakes his head rapidly. “N-n-n-no! I was hungry! I had—I’m, Uh… my name is Peter.”

 The man nods, frowning.  “You look just like Stark.”

 Peter doesn’t know how to take that, so he shrugs tightly, still paralyzed with fear.

 Before either of them can say anything else, there’s movement from above and a second later, Steve is moseying into the kitchen with a dopey grin for the other man that falls right off his face when he walks into the crime scene and sees the ruined, half-eaten cake on the floor along with his son shaken with pure fear.

 His eyebrows are furrowed when his gaze shifts between Peter and the other man.

 Peter can’t tell if he’s mad or not, but he’s grateful for the rescue anyway.

 “H-hey, Dad,” he says. “Good morning.”

 “I miss something?” Steve asks and the brunet scoffs, rolling his eyes off of Peter to glare at Steve.

 “Nothing,” the other man mumbles. “I was eating the cake you got me from Peg’s diner, Peter here startled me, and I dropped it. No biggie.”

 Peter stares at the man now, but the look isn’t returned.

 “Oh,” Steve says, leaning on the doorway threshold. “I see you guys have gotten acquainted?”

 “My cake is acquainted with the floor,” the man grumbles under his breath.

 “Huh?”

 “I said that it’s a shame we haven’t been acquainted before,” he says louder now, avoiding Peter’s eyes.

 “Oh.” Steve hops off the wall to pat Peter’s back.  “Buck, this is my son, Peter, and Peter, this is Bucky. He’s my, uh,” Steve falters, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “My, um—”

 “Roommate?” Peter chirps, earning himself an irritated eye roll from one and a exasperated sigh from the other.

 “ _Roommate_ ,” the man _—Bucky?_ —sneers below his breath. “ _Roommate_.”

 Steve sets a calming hand to his friend’s wrist and shakes his head. “ _Please_ ,” he utters and levels his son with a pained grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not exactly. Bucky and I have been _together_.”

 “As _friends_ ,” Peter adds on and if looks could kill, Bucky would have him dead. Steve blinks and shakes his head.

 “No, son, as partners. Together. Like—” 

 “ _Boyfriends_ ,” Bucky interjects, smirking.

 The word doesn’t compute at first, and Peter’s eye is involuntarily twitching like an under programmed robot when it does.

  _Boyfriend._

Like a _pre-husband_.

 And they’re living _together_?

 He stares between the two of them to see if they’re joking but judging by the way Bucky’s eyeing him, this man doesn’t probably joke a lot.

 “ _Oh_.”

 The concept of his Dad having a boyfriend is one thing to deal with, but when said boyfriend looks like he kicks puppies and has a bowl of nails for breakfast, it’s another.

 “Yeah,” Steve agrees, cheeks still red while Bucky’s smirk grows wider. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

 “Oh.”

 Steve nods. “I know it’s a lot to take in, kiddo, but we’re really happy that you’re here.”

 “Be happier if I had my fucking cake,” Bucky mutters to himself, making Peter wince as he goes to clean the floor while Steve shoots him a perplexed side eye.

 “Well,” Peter clears his throat nervously, throwing the cake and container in tin garbage can. “I’m happy to be here. It’s really pretty out here, and the guest room is, uh, nice. Lots of room.”

 “I’m glad you feel welcome!” Steve reaches in the fridge to get a bottle of water. “Anything in particular you wanna do today?”

  _Live to see tomorrow._ “Maybe I’ll just go for a swim.”

 Bucky raises his eyebrows as though that's the most shocking thing he’s ever heard before. Then he gives Peter an unimpressed once over and looks away.

 “Sounds fun,” his Dad says. “I bet you’re hungry, huh?”

 “Makes two of us,” Bucky quips, his back to the both of them as he exits the kitchen. “Nice meeting you, Peter.”

 Something deep in Peter tells him that’s a lie. “You, too… sir.”

 Steve checks behind him to assure Bucky is out of earshot before shuffling closer to Peter and hushing his voice to a whisper. “I know this is a lot,” he assures in that nurturing nature of his. “It’s probably the last thing you expected, and I get it if you feel uncomfortable, but we wanna make this fun since I’ve only got you for a week.”

 Peter nods, understanding. “I know.”

 “This guy,” Steve says, turning scarlet for the third time, “means a lot to me. I talk about you to him all the time, so you guys getting along really means a lot to me.”

 “Of course, Dad. He seems cool.”

 The blatant grimace on Peter’s face as he says that gets a chuckle out of Steve.

 “I know he seems a little moody, but I promise he’s only like that to appear intimidating. By the end of this week, you guys are gonna be best friends.”

 “Dad, he looks like an escaped convict,” Peter tells him bluntly.

 Steve rolls his ocean blue eyes. “You can’t judge a book by its cover, Pete. He may seem rough and whatnot, but just be nice to him, okay?”

 “I’m always nice.”

 “Yeah, I’d be a shit father if you weren’t,” Steve snickers. “I’ll make you some pancakes.”

 “Okay! Thanks, Dad!” Peter playfully punches his Dad’s shoulder and turns to leave the kitchen.

 Barely three steps out of the kitchen, he’s met face to chest with Bucky’s pectorals, stopping his heart again and getting a sharp gasp to escape his lungs. Bucky is glaring down at him with little to no amusement. “Excuse me,” he grumbles and Peter side steps out of the way.

“S-s-sorry, sir,” he babbles and races up the stairs.

 

 - -

 

“A boyfriend? Like a _boyfriend_ boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Ned. A boyfriend!”

Ned, just as puzzled as Peter, glares down at his phone screen. “Boyfriends like they’re dating?”

“Yes!” Peter exclaims.“Not even in a ‘maybe they are, maybe they aren’t’ type of way like you and I but, like, it’s official! Crazy, isn’t it?”

Ned thinks for a moment. “I mean it’s crazy in the sense that your Dad is dating someone who isn’t Tony, but not _crazy_ crazy ‘cus your Dad’s kinda hot. I mean, he could have anyone he wanted.”

“Which is why I’m confused as to why he’s with the Terminator, of all people.”

 “What’s that mean?”

 Peter swings his feet off the dock, mulling over his next statement. “This guy is just… _odd_. Odd for my Dad anyway.”

 “Odd how?”

 “He’s got this dark, and mysterious way about him that is completely out of my Dad’s type if my Pop is anything to go by. It’s weird ‘cus he didn’t tell my Dad I ate his cake, but he went on to complain about it anyway! I don’t get it?”

 “Yeah, that is kinda odd.”

 “And as far as looks go, well, he’s got a full sleeve tattoo and looks like he can bench press an entire elementary school,” Peter continues. “I tried telling my Dad that he’s an escaped convict. I know a criminal when I see one, Ned.”

 “What do you think he went to prison for?”

 “Robbing a bank, probably.”

 “What’d your Dad say?”

 Like a reflex, Peter’s brown eyes roll to the back of his head. “You know him, he got all righteous on me and told me to be nice, but, like, why should I even care? I won’t be here that long anyway.”

 Ned’s mouth curves in thought. “C’mon, Peter, it seems like your Dad likes him, so why not just—”

 “Why should I? I won’t see even see him that often after this week, so why does it matter?”

 “Maybe to just be nice,” Ned tells him with conviction. “Peter, I get that this thing going on with your parents is hard, but don’t take it out on this guy.”

 Deep down, Peter knows his best friend is right, but being as stubborn as he is, he grimaces to himself and makes a disgusted sound.

 For the remainder of the conversation, Ned tells Peter about the party and when he’s going to go away for science camp. Peter tells him more about the house and how he’ll spend the week. Not before long, it’s five in the afternoon and Peter has spent the majority of his first day on the phone with Ned on the dock edge.

 “Peter!” Steve calls out the screen patio door to the young boy. “Come in here and help with dinner!”

 “Alright, Ned, I gotta go,” Peter tells his friend, standing and putting his t-shirt back on.

 “Okay! Text me later!”

 “Will do!”

 Peter ends the call and enters the house through the screen door. As he walks through the family room and into the kitchen, the smell of Dad and Pop’s macaroni and cheese dish wafts in the air. When Peter steps into the kitchen, Steve is at the stove stirring a pot of homemade cheese sauce on one burner while the elbow macaroni noodles boil on one behind it.

 “Smells good in here.”

 His Dad nods. “Making macaroni and cheese, ribs, and mashed potatoes.” Steve gestures to the oven under the stove. “Ribs should be done in about an hour then we just gotta wait for the macaroni to bake and Bucky’s making the mashed potatoes.”

 Peter makes a mental note to _not_ eat the mashed potatoes.

 “Why didn’t you just grill?” He wonders, pointing towards the screen door. “It’s a nice day to eat outside.”

 Steve hunches his shoulders. “Never really learned how to grill. Grandpa Joe taught me to bake the ribs instead.”

 “So, what’cha need help with?” Peter asks, leaning on the threshold.

 “Just need you to taste this sauce,” Steve instructs, pointing at the pot. “I feel like it’s missing something but I can’t put my finger on what.”

 Steve dips a plastic spoon in the sauce and hands it to his son to taste. Peter licks the spoon clean with determination.

 “Hmmm,” he hums lowly. “I think it’s missing the Dijon mustard. And a little garlic powder.”

 Steve snaps his fingers and swivels on his heels to dig “Ya know what—you’re right. Tony always has to remind me to add that.”

 A frown forms at the mention of Pop but it doesn't linger.

 Steve searches the fridge for the mustard but comes up empty. “Damn, we don’t have any,” he mumbles to himself. “And I used the rest of the garlic powder for the ribs. Shit.”

 “Could you substitute it?”

 Steve thinks. “I could, but if you could tell we were missing it, it won’t be the same,” he explains as he looks through the fridge further. “Dammit, we don’t have cream or milk for the potatoes either.”

 Just then, like a phantom in the night, Bucky appears on the other side of the open concept kitchen to stand by the fridge and hover over Steve’s shoulder.

 “Shit, really?” he says gruffly.

 “Yeah, looks that way, _babe_.”

 A nauseous wave forms in Peter’s stomach.

 Bucky sucks his teeth in mild annoyance. “Fuck it, I’ll just make a trip to the store. Needed to head out anyway.”

 Steve closes the fridge and resumes stirring. “Yeah, I guess so. Oh, and while you’re there, can you pick up Dijon mustard, garlic powder, and now that I’m thinking of it, another box of macaroni? This doesn’t look like a lot. Oh, and some more barbecue sauce so I can coat the ribs.”

 Bucky blinks, mouthing all Steve had said to himself but shakes his head when he decides he can’t remember. “Can you write that down?”

 Clearly impatient, Steve jerks his head towards Peter and gives the noodles a twirl now. “Take Peter with you. He’s great at remembering.”

 Ned’s warning to not take his frustrations with his parents’ divorce out on Bucky rings in the back of Peter’s mind, stopping him from blurting out something or another about Bucky kidnapping him to sell him into slavery if he should be left alone with him. Peter tenses and Bucky finally looks his way as though he hadn’t noticed the teenager when he strode in. Before Peter can detect a reaction, Bucky is shrugging and already on his way to the garage door. “Be back soon,” he’s saying and the sound of the car keys jingling fades. Peter hesitates but makes to move before his Dad’s hand is suddenly touching his shoulder to get his attention.

 “ _Be nice_ ,” Steve warns him.

 “Dad, I know.”

 Steve squints at him. “Don’t forget we need milk, cream, the mustard, garlic powder, barbecue sauce, and another box of macaroni.”

 “Got it!” he yells behind him as he walks with little to no passion to the garage door.

 

\- -

 

The ride into town is, for lack of a better word, quiet.

 Bucky doesn’t talk to him or even acknowledge that Peter is in the truck with him, and Peter isn’t sure how he feels about that. It’s not that he wanted to speak to the other man, but he could have at least asked how his day went.

 Without conversation or anything distracting him, Peter analyzes the man further.

 Bucky drives with his left hand planted firmly on top of the steering wheel while his right elbow resting on the center console. The five o’clock stubble shadowing Bucky’s defined jaw is dark brown with faint patches of grey here and there, making Peter wonder just how old he is. In the two times Peter has seen him, he’s clad in black from his short sleeve shirt to his baggy sweatpants to his shoes and to his Timberlands construction boots. Peter finds that peculiar since it’s hot as hell outside, but it’s to be expected from a man who looks like he would slap his own grandmother for twenty dollars.

With all the assumptions and observations he’s made of this man in the short times he’s known of him, Peter knows one thing for certain: _he loves chocolate cake_.

Peter doesn’t realize he’s unabashedly staring at the side of the man’s face until he shifts in his seat. He looks forward at the open road ahead, praying they’ll be in town soon.

When they arrive at the supermarket, Bucky parks as close as he can and instructs Peter to grab a cart. Doing as he’s told, Peter gets a cart and doesn’t argue that a basket would be more suitable for the amount of stuff they’re getting as he pushes it wherever Bucky goes. Aisle through aisle, Bucky picks up what he can remember of Steve telling him without a single word to Peter.

Is he mad at him? Is this his way of getting payback for the cake? Steve said the man is shy, but the lack of words exchanged comes off as rude more than shy.

 It only takes twenty minutes to gather what they need for dinner. On the way to the checkout, they pass the bakery and much to Peter’s dismay, a chocolate cake is on display and it takes all the restraint in him to not look at Bucky.

 If Bucky notices Peter’s shame, he certainly doesn’t speak on it as he pays for the groceries and walks back to the truck.

 The ride back is slightly less tense now that Bucky has the radio on.

 Unable to contain himself, Peter goes back to staring at Bucky and without much left to lose, he blurts out, “So, you and my Dad.”

 Bucky side-eyes him.  “‘Scuse me?”

 Peter clears his throat. “How’d you guys meet? It’s just that’s he’s never mentioned you, so—?”

 Bucky nods, focus on the road never wavering. “I wouldn’t think he would. Your Dad and I go way back to when he was about as skinny and short as you.”

 Peter grimaces. “I’ll have you know that I got an A in gym last semester.”

 Bucky snickers without a smile. “Didn’t realize you were such an Olympian.”

 They don’t say anything for the cycle of a few songs.

 Peter speaks first again.

 “So, you knew my Dad when he was younger,” he prompts.

 Bucky nods. “You don't remember, obviously, but when you were first born, I held you that night in the hospital so your Dad and Stark could get some rest.”

 “That sounds nice!” Peter says happily, having a difficulty envisioning a Bucky, sixteen years younger, holding a newborn. 

“You threw up on me.”

“Oh.”

Bucky frowns at the road. “Yup. You throw up on me then you eat my damn chocolate cake. Talk about foreshadowing.”

Peter looks forward with a wince, and doesn’t say anything for the remainder of the ride back.

 

\- -

  

Dinner is delicious that night. They eat outside as suggested, and the sunset is just as beautiful as the one back home.

 Peter eats only some of his mashed potatoes. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all already know my girl in the chair, HalcyonSeasons came through for this one. Poor thing was up until three in the morning getting this shit done for me. I love her always and forever. Please enjoy!!!!

The following Monday, Steve takes Peter on a hike.

Having lived in the suburbs his whole life, Peter has no clue that walking up a mountain could take so much out of him. He finishes his water halfway up to the top, has several mosquito bites along his arms and legs because he’s stubborn and didn’t put on repellent spray when his Dad told him to, and develops a light sunburn even though applied a thin layer of sunscreen to his face and arms.

He finishes the trail with only mild complaining and the rest of Steve’s water to carry him through. Steve may have uttered something about Peter being as stubborn as he was when he was younger. As difficult of a time Peter has hiking, he enjoys the alone time he gets with Steve before Bucky returns from work this afternoon.

 

\- -

 

On Tuesday, upon Peter’s request, Steve takes him sailing on Grandpa Joe’s sailboat where they enjoy people-watching and idle small talk. Steve assured Peter had applied enough sunscreen before letting him lay out.

Peter is laying out on the deck, soaking in the sun with his pair of Ray Bans protecting his eyes when Steve suddenly asks, “Have you talked to Pop yet?”

He grimaces. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Hasn’t called me.”

“You know a phone works both ways, Peter.”

“Hmmph.”

“You can’t be upset about the party situation forever, kiddo. I’m sure Pop had a good reason.”

Peter props himself up on his skinny elbows and curves his neck to face Steve. “I figured since you guys are divorcing, you’d automatically be on my side with that.”

Steve adjusts his navy baseball cap with a sideways grin as though he agrees but doesn’t want to admit it. “That’s not how it works. Just because Pop and I are no longer a couple, we’re still your parents,” he reminds him, leaning forward on the steering wheel. “Please call your Pop tonight, okay? I’m sure he misses you.”

“Hmph,” Peter grunts again, then lays back down.

At noon, they eat the club sandwiches, chips, fruit salads, and cookies they packed for lunch. Afterwards Peter continues to lay out, listening to an audiobook in his earphones while the sun warms and tans his faint complexion. Steve notices that most of the other sailors are young kids playing music and doing flips off their boats, laughing and thoroughly enjoying each other’s company the way anyone would expect most teenagers to be.

“Peter!” he calls just loud enough so he can hear over the noise in his earphones.

Peter removes them and twists to face him. “Yeah?”

“You ever thought about hanging with some locals your age so that you’re not bored?”

Peter shakes his head without a second thought. “Don’t really see the point in making friends if I’m only gonna be here for the week.”

Steve puts his aviators on to safely roll his eyes. “Yeah, but this won’t be the only time you’ll be up here for the next six weeks, ya know? You don’t think you’ll want a friend or something when you do come to visit?”

“Dad, I have you.”

“Yeah, I know that, but someone your age,” Steve reiterates, but Peter just shrugs and lays back down.

Steve dives into the lake to get a few laps in before guiding them back home at about four in the afternoon, just around the time Bucky is getting home from work. Steve docks the boat on their property, then enters the house with Peter through the screen patio door the same time Bucky comes in through the garage.

Much to Peter’s disgust, he isn’t up the stairs fast enough to avoid witnessing the big, wet kiss Bucky plants on Steve’s mouth the second they’re in each other’s arms. Even as he rushes up the steps two at a time, he can hear Bucky murmur something along the lines of Steve looking “too fine for his own good.”

To be fair, Tony never said anything like that to Steve.

That night Steve serves burgers and potato wedges, and they eat on the patio to watch the sunset again. Bucky doesn’t say much of anything to either of them, which confuses the hell out of Peter. The conversation is carried mostly by Steve, and every few chews Bucky grunts in agreement and look out at the lake.

After Peter assists Steve in cleaning the kitchen, Tony calls, but he stares at the ringing, vibrating device until the name on screen disappears.

Instead, he calls Ned to tell him how much he misses him.

 

\- -

 

Wednesday brings an epic thunderstorm that prevents Peter and Steve from going on a leisure bike ride around town. It’s pouring buckets by the time Bucky gets home with no promising signs of letting up. They have lasagna with garlic bread at the dining room table that night.

  
Afterwards, Steve suggests they watch a movie in the family room. Peter leans back in the recliner chair diagonal from the television, adjusting the blanket over his body as he waits for his Dad to select a movie on Netflix.

With a knitted blanket draped over his shoulders, Steve sits with his legs crossed on the suede loveseat and Bucky resting his head on his thigh like a pillow. A bowl of popcorn is settled between Steve’s legs, and a large fleece comforter blankets snuggles Bucky’s body.

Peter had seen his parents snuggle on the couch back home plenty of times, and yeah, this is not much different but it’s still weird. He’s not overly disgusted by the sight of them innocently laying together, but it’s an image he’s trying hard to comprehend regardless.

It’s Dad… _with someone who isn’t Pop._

_Cuddling someone who isn’t Pop._

Unable to look away from them, Peter’s lack of discretion is almost instantly met with a brief blank—and quite haunted—glare from Bucky that Peter returns with a tight-lipped smile that felt out of place on his face.

“Jeez, for as much as we spend on Netflix, there’s barely anything good on here,” Steve complains, searching the options with a grimace.

Bucky blinks up at Steve. “Just ‘cus you’re not in the mood to watch something doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

Steve shakes his head with dissatisfaction. “Peter, any suggestions?”

“Um, uh…” Peter stammers, rattling his brain for literally one single movie he’s seen. “Can we watch _Twilight_?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees and looks down at Bucky. “You fine with that?”

Bucky shrugs. “Never seen it.”

Steve selects the movie and they watch in silence.

By the time the movie is over, the pouring rain has reduced to a light shower and Bucky is fast asleep in Steve’s lap.

In the midst of his slumber, the man appears content. Somehow he’s still frowning, yet he doesn’t look angry. His eyebrows aren’t scrunched, his frown lines aren’t too prominent, and there’s nearly something harmless the way his snore is high pitched with a stutter. There’s something about watching Steve run delicate fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp that haunts and fascinates Peter.

He never saw Steve and Tony never do that.

“Wanna watch another?” Steve offers, gaining Peter’s attention from the softness of his sleeping boyfriend.

Peter shakes his head and stands, stretching to crack his bones and loosen his muscles as he does. “Um, no. I’m just gonna go to bed.”

Steve nods. “Alright, kiddo,” he says tiredly, fingers never once stopping in Bucky’s hair. “We’ll get that bike ride in tomorrow.”

Peter takes a short shower, brushes his teeth, and puts pajamas on to retire to bed. Sleep doesn’t come to him as smoothly as he’d liked, so for a long while he just lays there in the middle of the bed staring at the ceiling fan like it has all the answers to the questions no adult is willing to answer.

Around eleven, he hears Steve and Bucky come upstairs and settle in for the night.

About an hour later, his phone vibrates with a text.

 _Didn’t anybody ever tell you it’s rude to ignore your favorite parent?_ \- **12:01 AM**

While Peter is still incredibly upset with his Pop, he lets himself smile at the text.

Does he miss Tony? _Of course._

Has he forgiven him about the party situation? That’s undecided, and if he were able to go on ignoring Tony he would had it not been for Tony being very aware he’s being ignored.

 _Hi Pop_ , he texts back and connects his phone to its charger.

It takes a moment for Tony to text back.

 _I’m calling you tomorrow and you’re going to answer. Night, kiddo._ \- **12:09 AM**

Peter is asleep before he can respond.

 

\- - 

 

  
The following morning, Peter is awake at nearly seven on the dot for whatever reasons his body felt necessary. It’s quiet as usual save for the mumbling down the hallway. Bucky is leaving for work.

Given that it is so early, Peter tries going back to sleep but loses all motivation to when he realizes that with Bucky gone, he can spend more undivided time with his Dad. He leaves in just two days and he wants as much time with Steve as possible before he has to face the rest of his summer awkwardly pretending his Pop hasn’t turned into a different person on him.

Peter uses the bathroom then skips his way downstairs, following the strong coffee scent to the kitchen where Steve is brewing a pot.

“Hey, Dad!” Peter’s smile is so contagious it reaches Steve’s face.

“Morning. Sleep okay?”

Peter nods. “Yeah,” he says with a nod, getting the jug of orange juice from the refrigerator to pour himself a glass. “You?”

“I did. You call Pop like I told you to?”

Peter momentarily freezes in the middle of drinking. “I texted him. That’s kinda the same thing.”

“So, _no_.”

“Not really. I mean, like, I was gonna but I just lost track of time. I was really busy with, um, er—” Peter stammers, focusing on a single pulp floating in his glass. “Ya know, um—”

“Busy what?” Steve teases, getting a mug from the cupboard. “Laying out in the sun? Swimming? Pouting?”

Peter narrows his eyes, his face getting hot and pink. “I’m almost seventeen, Dad, and I _don’t_ pout.”

“And I’m President of the United States,” Steve chuckled. “You're gonna have to talk to him sometime. You’re leaving me in two days and I don’t wanna send you somewhere you don’t wanna go.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Peter assures him. “I mean I may still be a little mad at him, sure, but it’s gonna be fine when I go back. You know how he goes: breaks promises and buys them a laptop to make up for it.”

Steve stiffens with an irritated nod as he pours his coffee into the mug. “Yeah. _A laptop_ ,” he repeats bitterly and takes a delicate sip. “Something tells me this goes a little bit deeper than just a party if you’re still so hung up on it nearly a week later.”

Peter’s cheeks continue to burn. “It wasn’t just any party,” he starts, looking nervously at his feet. “This girl I really like was hosting it and, um, it was my only chance at really getting to know her before she leaves for college and being a no-call no-show doesn’t help my case.”

Steve nods in understanding. “Did you try calling and telling her what happened? I’m sure she’d understand.”

“Yeah, I would if I had her number and didn’t turn into a babbling idiot whenever I talk to her. And what’s worse is that she personally invited me, ya know? She asked me herself, I said I’d go, and I didn’t for God knows why.”

Peter’s previous annoyance with Tony flashes back, and the chances of him answering a call from him later on are becoming slimmer and slimmer.

“Well, if it means anything, son, I think once you get home, everything will work out.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you’re my Dad?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”

Steve has never given Peter a reason to not believe him, so he nods in agreement. “I sure hope you’re right,” he mutters and points to the fridge. “Can I have eggs and bacon before we go?”

Steve makes them both bacon, eggs, toast and they share one half a grapefruit each. They put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, get dressed in street clothes, and get the two bikes from the garage.

“He won’t mind me taking his bike?” Peter asks nervously as his mounts it. It’s slightly too tall for him, but he’ll make do with what he’s got since he’s too cautious about adjusting the seat.

“ _He_ has a name, and yes, it’s fine, Pete,” Steve insists. “Unless you’re so scared of him you’d rather walk the next few miles.”

Peter catches onto the teasing tone his Dad puts on. “I’m not scared of him.” _Intimidated is a more appropriate word._

“So the ‘escaped convict’ comment was ‘cus you’re ignorant, not scared,” Steve goes on, walking the bike to the garage door, opening it, and shutting it when Peter follows behind.

“I’m not ignorant!” Peter protests with his arms folded over his chest defiantly. “I’m just calling him as I see him, and he looks like an escaped convict.”

“Maybe I’m not doing my job as a parent if you’re this quick to judge someone you barely know.”

“I’m not judging anybody. I’m just, um, ugh, being-“

Steve glares at him as he mounts the bike and begins to peddle along the dirt trail leading away from the house. “ _Judgmental_ ,” he tries. “C’mon.”

They ride along the dirt trail with a pleasantly comfortable silence between them with the overlapping nature sounds and whooshing wind to make up for it. Steve is humming to himself, smiling at the healthy scenery around them while Peter rides with both hands on the handlebars, inhaling the faint salty tinge in the air from the lake and appreciating the mountains far off in a misty distance.

It’s tough keeping up with someone as athletic as Steve on a bike unaccustomed to his height and weight, but Peter manages just fine. They have about five miles behind them before they stop at a park bench to drink water.

“What do you think of Bucky, really?” Steve suddenly ask, clearly still hung up on the topic.

“I don’t think of him.”

“Peter, you know what I mean.”

Peter stubbornly glares up at him.

Steve sighs.

“I get that this is all new. I’m not expecting you to get acclimated over the course of a week, kiddo, but it’s not right to push your frustrations about Tony and I on others. Bucky is a good guy, if you give him a chance.”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Peter confesses with a shrug, looking to his sneakers. “He doesn’t really talk a lot when I’m around.”

Steve listens intently, nodding along with everything his son is saying. “You’d prefer if he did?”

“I mean, I don’t really care,” Peter lies, mounting Bucky’s bike. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. I’ll be out of both you guys’ hair soon enough.”

“Peter, c’mon,” Steve laughs, nudging Peter’s thin shoulder. “Bucky thinks you’re a good kid. And you know I love having you around.”

“You do?” Peter is somehow shocked by this.

“You’re my kid, of course I do! You do like it here, right?”

Peter shrugs unsurely then thinks for a minute. “Bucky said I’m a good kid?”

Steve begins peddling slowly this time so that Peter can keep up. “Yeah, he did.”

“We barely even talk. How did he come up with that?”

Steve sighs. “Well, he’s known about you since you were a little thing in May’s stomach. He was there at the hospital the day you were born—”

“He told me about that.”

“You threw up on him.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, he told me that, too,” he adds, grinning to himself.

“He’s been my best friend since I was a teenager, so there’s no way he wouldn’t see you grow up one way or another,” Steve continues, lazily rolling on the dirt trail. “I never got to bring him around that often ‘cus he and Pop have had… _disagreements_ in the past, and it seemed best to kept some things in my life separate from others.”

“Hindsight is really twenty-twenty, huh?” Peter remarks with raised eyebrows.

“Guess you could say that,” Steve agrees. “He really is just a bit more reserved than most, Peter. It’s not that he doesn't like you—just takes the moody lil’ shit to open up to new people.”

Peter has heard Steve swear a total of maybe five times in his whole life. Having been up here in the last week really puts into perspective just how different Steve is when he’s not around Tony.

“Where did you even get the idea that he doesn’t like you?” Steve wonders, glancing forward and around the expanse of the trail so he can’t see the guilt-stricken look on Peter’s face. “‘Cus he doesn’t talk around you? To be fair, kid, you don’t talk around him much either.”

This realization hits Peter square in the chest.

He sure doesn’t talk around Bucky, and if he thinks about it hard enough, he doesn’t know if he has a reason as to why. One man can’t stay mad about a piece of cake for a whole week, so maybe it’s Peter being weird by not making conversation, even though he’s halfway sure that the man is holding his Dad hostage and Steve has developed an intense case of Stockholm Syndrome.

Peter follows Steve back down the trail to the house where Steve goes to his office in the basement, and Peter settles on the couch to continue _The Twilight Saga._

In the middle of _New Moon_ , Peter’s cell phone vibrates and rings in his lap. He pauses the movie to check the caller ID and he can’t seem to muster the courage to decline the call.

“Hey, Pop,” he says when the call connects.

“Peter! Light of my life! Fire of my loins! Blood of my veins! My bouncing baby boy!” Tony quips happily through the speaker. “Almost forgot what your voice sounded like.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.”

“ _Hmph_ ,” Tony scoffs. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring my calls?”

Peter, unsure of what to say, makes an uncommitted noise of half shame half defiance. _Was he supposed to say sorry?_ He isn’t.

“Um, well, Pop, I, uhh—” he tries, but Tony interrupts.

“ _Nope_! No, no, no! You don’t even have to explain yourself, Pete. _I get it_. Okay? I do. Sending you away to the brink of the wilderness so short notice and having you miss the party was a terrible, un-cool Pop thing to do.”

“It’s fine, Pop,” Peter lies maybe to make himself feel better. “I mean, like you said there’ll be other parties and stuff so no big deal, ya know?”

“My point still stands, kid! It’s wasn’t cool, and as you and I both know, I am the cool parent, and I promise to never exhibit such uncool behavior ever again.”

“Pop, please stop saying ‘cool.’” Peter holds back a giggle.

“What? The kids aren’t saying ‘cool’ anymore? What is it? Hip? Gnarly? Redonkulous?”

“Pop, please, you sound like someone’s grandfather. God, no. None of that.”

“Speaking of grandfathers, how your Dad?” Tony asks.

“He’s fine. We’ve been having a lot of fun. It’s really pretty here, and we went sailing, swimming, and bike riding.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Peter says, nodding and absently picking at a loose hem on his basketball shorts. “I can’t wait to come home. I miss my own bed.”

“I’m ready for you to come home, too, Peter. There’s a lot of changes going on, but if there’s one thing that’s constant, it’s that I miss you.”

It never dawned on Peter that Tony could actually miss him given how abruptly he got rid of him nearly a week ago. Peter is about to respond, but the sound of his Dad coming up the stairs from the basement distracts him.

“Hey, Peter, would you happen to know—” he begins, then stops when he enters the family room and sees his son is on the phone . “Ooh, sorry, kid.”

“It’s fine, it’s just Pop.”

“ _Just Pop,_ ” Tony repeats, probably rolling his eyes.

“Oh!” Steve says, approaching the couch. “Hey, Tony!”

“Good afternoon, my long suffering spouse of eighteen years. How’s this day treating you?”

Steve bites his lip to stop an amused snort, but it comes out regardless. “It’s going great. I can’t complain. How about you, my dear former sugar daddy turned husband?”

Peter will never grow accustomed to the odd humor of his parents relationship. “That’s gross,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Well, it’s good now that I’m talking to our darling bundle of joy!”

“Okay, Pop, I get it,” Peter groans, ignoring the knowing glare his Dad gives him before walking away. “I’m over it. It’s whatever. I’m talking to you now.”

“I’m just so fortunate to be talking to _the Peter Benjamin Stark_ , gosh.”

 _And Peter thought Steve was the sarcastic one…_ “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Eh, you might, kid. I’ll stop as long as you say I’m forgiven.”

“You’re forgiven.” _Sorta_. “How’s everything there?”

“It’s going great actually,” he says after a moment of silent hesitation. “Got a lot of work done, tied up some loose ends, ya know, the same old boring stuff.”

“That’s good,” Peter says thoughtlessly, staring out the screen door at the dock and lake. _Maybe he’ll go for a swim later._

Peter and Tony talk for a while longer about miscellaneousness and what seems like the second they say goodbye and hang up, the garage door is opening and the heavy stomps of construction boots on the wooden floor echo throughout the first level.

Peter doesn’t have time to scurry outside before Steve is already up the basement stairs and greeting his boyfriend in the hallway between the garage and kitchen.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve utters, and a kissing noise follows. “How was work?”

“Was alright,” Bucky replies tiredly. “This old lady yelled at me because we were out of hot glue sticks, but what can you do, ya know? How was the bike ride?”

“It was fun. We went about five miles out.”

There are some abstract sounds of movement around the kitchen accompanied by the hiss of a beer bottle opening and the sink running. Peter checks his social media, momentarily lost in his phone until his name comes up in the conversation in the next room.

It’s in the middle of Steve’s sentence when he picks up what they’re talking about.

“...talk with Peter about heading to Queens with him to keep up the house hunt.”

“The kid’s starting senior year, and before you know it, he’ll be off to college. You said he preferred staying with Stark anyway. ” Bucky sounds annoyed as though they’ve discussed this too many times before.

“Yeah, I know, but I just want him to have somewhere else to call home if he decides he doesn’t wanna live with Tony full time.”

“Who would?” There's an undertone of disgust in Bucky’s voice that Peter twitches at.

“Bucky, please. Is this a good idea?”

There’s a brief pause. “You’re just gonna leave me here all alone in the woods to fight against bears and moose by myself while you go hunting for our dream house?” Bucky is teasing now, and Steve is probably rolling his eyes.

“We don’t live near moose, and a bear would mistake you for one of its own, but seriously, Buck!” Steve urges. “You know I’d bring you with me, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your lil’ husband wouldn’t like it.”

What the hell does Bucky even have against Tony? Peter pouts, arms crossed across his chest in frustration that he doesn’t have the courage to mouth off to Bucky. He probably didn’t deserve that chocolate cake anyway!

“For once, Bucky, it’s not about Tony. It’d just be a lot for Peter to process, and I feel bad about putting all this on him at once.”

Bucky heaves a heavy exhale. “Stevie, you know I’ve got your back with whatever you wanna do. Just don’t forget what you do impacts me, too.”

If Peter’s honest with himself, he never thought it’d be capable of a man like Bucky to sound so sentimental.

“Where is Peter, anyway?” Bucky asks then which shocks the teenager. _Why did he care?_

“In the family room,” Steve tells him. “Eh, babe, I don’t feel like cooking. Can you make some spaghetti, and I’ll make the garlic bread?”

“You’re not making anything if you just put the frozen food in the conventional oven, but I’ll let it slide ‘cus you’re cute.”

Peter is sure he’s heard enough, so he silently sneaks by the kitchen to get upstairs and change into his swim trunks. When he comes back downstairs, the two of them are cuddling on the sofa and watching the rest of the movie.

“Come in when it starts getting dark,” Steve warns him on his way out.

“Got it!” Peter nods, shutting the screen door behind him.

When Peter looks up through the glass barely a moment later, Steve and Bucky are swapping spit, and the only thing saving Peter from drowning himself at the sight of it is that he gets to leave in two short days.

 

 - - 

 

The next morning, Peter awakes just as Bucky is leaving again. As far as he knows, Steve doesn’t have anything planned, so he takes that time between waking up and going downstairs for breakfast to clean the guest room and bathroom, pack his clothes, and get dressed.

Steve is flipping pancakes when Peter trots down the stairs, humming along with the melodic opera music playing from the Bluetooth speaker propped on the counter.

“G’morning,” Peter says in passing as he makes his way to the family room to finish New Moon.

“Hey, Peter! Can you c’mere for a second?”

Peter swivels on his heels and pokes his head around the corner to the kitchen. “What’s up?”

Steve lowers the volume on the speaker. “You wanna stay in Queens full-time, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do!”

“Good, ‘cus you know I’m looking for a house in Queens so that you can have a place to go in the event that you wanna switch it up between your Pop and I,” Steve explains, putting a golden brown pancake on a paper plate. “Somewhere close enough for you to commute easily and—”

“And far enough so that Bucky isn’t near Pop,” Peter guesses, and the look Steve shoots him is comically flabbergasted. Peter shrugs as though to say, _What? It’s the truth._

“That’s something else I wanted to discuss with you. Um, Bucky and I,” he stammers, adding another fluffy pancake to the stack. “He and I are pretty, uh, ya know, _serious_.”

Peter nods with uncertainty. “I know, Dad. If you move to Queens, he goes with you, and I’ll have to live with him, too.”

Steve clicks the stove top off and puts a reassuring hand out to Peter. “This is a lot for you—with the divorce and me introducing you to my boyfriend of all people so soon, I just wanna make sure you’re not overwhelmed.”

Peter hunches his shoulders again.

“Would you be uncomfortable living with Bucky and I?”

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “But I do want you to go through with getting a house where you like if you think it’s what’s best. I’m not too excited about you living far, though.”

One of Steve’s eyebrows corks upward. “Between you and I, kid, neither am I,” he agrees, putting another pancake on the plate, and then handing it to his son. “I was thinking about going back with you tomorrow, so that we can look for a place together.”

“Together?” The word is muffled between bites of pancake.

“Yeah, I figured so since it’ll be your space, too.”

“You wouldn’t wanna bring Bucky? I mean, ‘cus ya know, he’s your—and you guys are, um, serious?”

“Yeah, that’s not really his kinda thing. He’s along for the ride but never drives,” he assures. “What’d you wanna do on your last day here?”

Peter chews thoughtfully on his pancake. “Whatever you’re doing.”

“Well, I was gonna go into town and do some shopping. Is that okay with you?”

Peter nods enthusiastically and they finish their breakfast with opera music filling the kitchen.

 

\- - 

 

They drive into town in Bucky’s pickup where they run errands until lunch time, and they have lunch at a deli near the grocery store. They get food for the week and as they’re riding back to the house, Peter asks for Steve to make a stop at Peggy’s diner.

“Hello, darling!” Peggy has a genuine smile for him at the ready as soon as he walks into the reasonably busy restaurant. “How are you?”

“Hi,” he squeaks shyly under her charm.

“Where’s your Dad?” she wonders, wiping down the counter with a disinfectant spray and wet cloth.

“He’s in the car outside,” Peter says, gesturing to the door. “I just came here to get a piece of that chocolate cake of yours.”

“Nothing else?” she asks.

Peter shakes his head then pauses with a two fingers up. “Make that _two pieces_.”

“Two pieces coming right up!” Peggy turns around to address a tall, thin, light-skinned waitress who disappears into the kitchen a moment later.

Peter stands to the side out of the way of servers traipsing about the large space while awaiting for the dessert. Not before long, the same waitress exits the kitchen with takeout boxes and a very bored expression on her face.

“ _Cake_ ,” she declares and hands him the boxes.

Peter cocks his head at her and takes the dessert. “Th-thank you?”

She walks away slowly and disappears the kitchen, gone as quickly as she came. Peter shoots a worried look to Peggy, pointing in the direction that the waitress went.

“Um, how much do I owe—” he begins, but Peggy shakes her head.

“It’s on the house, my love,” she promises, waving him off. “I’ll see you soon! Tell your Dad to come see me when he can.”

“Will do, Peggy!” Peter waves to Peggy on his way out and climbs back into the pickup to head home.

_\- -_

 

The three of them have tacos for dinner that night, and instead of being awkward, Peter engages in the conversation and even laughs at a corny joke Steve tells. After cleaning the kitchen, Peter watches Eclipse on the couch, and he hears Bucky and Steve in the next room over.

“Thanks for the cake, by the way,” Bucky says to Steve.

“Actually, Peter got it for you.”

There’s a short silence.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did he?”

Peter gulps. _What if he think it’s a big joke?_

At this point, Peter pretends to be engrossed by the movie and actively listens to Bucky scarf down both slices of cake.

 

 - - 

 

Hours later, at about eight that evening, there’s a knock on the guest room door. Peter glances up from his phone and then back to the screen. He yells, “Come in!”

He doesn’t expect Bucky to be on the other side when the door cracks open. He especially doesn’t anticipate the man to be looking at him as tenderly as he is with the most cartoonishly wide eyes Peter’s ever seen.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky starts, huge arms swaying awkwardly at his side. “I just wanted to say thank you for the cake. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t have to cover for me to my dad,” Peter protest with one shoulder raised nonchalantly. “It’s fine.”

Bucky nods to himself like he’s thinking it over. “It was nice having you here for the week. It’s always nice to see a smile on your punk of a dad’s face.”

Peter can’t help grinning now. “Happy I could help.”

The man nods his head down the hall. “Guess I’ll see you some other time.”

“Yeah. You will.”

Bucky manages what Peter thinks is a smile as he shuts the bedroom door and leaves.

 

\- - 

 

Today is the day Peter is finally going home, and he can’t be more thrilled about it.

Steve bought the earliest bus tickets he could schedule for them, and pure adrenaline has him awake just minutes before his alarm goes off. He showers, slips on a t-shirt and basketball shorts, and starts hauling his luggage to the front door.

In the midst of doing so, he takes his final look of the lake house and mentally bids it farewell. He’ll miss it to a certain extent, but he really misses Ned, May, Liz—

“Oh, c’mon, don’t do this to him, Tony!”

Steve’s shout from above cuts through Peter’s thoughts, making the young boy jump on the spot. He’s about to rush up the stairs until he realizes that his Dad is on the phone.

With Pop.

 _Great_.

Peter exhales and listens.

“Why, though? He misses you so much, and you’re just gonna do this to him the day he comes home—”

There’s a long silence. Peter can feel his heart thumping louder than anything in his chest. A moment passes, and there’s more shouting that Peter can’t help not listening to even as he wanders aimlessly around the family room.

“Is that why you’re calling me? Too scared to tell him yourself? When are you going to just be honest with your son? Is that so hard?”

There’s movement from above that sounds like Steve is pacing. Peter gulps and has a seat on the sofa, because something tells him a serious talk is under way.

Fifteen minutes pass before Steve stops pacing and descends down the stairs in search of Peter.

“Peter!” he calls.

Peter frowns. “In here!”

Steve enters the open space and takes the seat beside him. He still has on pajamas and appears the farthest thing from ready to take a bus ride, or even leave the house, for that matter.

“Hey, kid,” he starts, but Peter grimaces.

“Just tell me,” the teen barks.

If Peter could, he’d take that defeated look right off his Dad’s face.

“Something’s come up with your Pop,” he mutters, arms crossed over his chest. “It sounded pretty urgent.”

Peter nods. “Yeah?”

“He’s not really sure how long this… _thing_ is gonna go for, and after a little discussion—”

_More like a screaming match._

“We decided it’s best you stay with me until Tony can figure himself out.”

That was the last thing Peter wanted to hear but the first thing he expected to come out of Steve’s mouth.

Anxious, he blinks a few times at his Dad’s discouraged expression.

“For how long?” His voice cracks. His throat grows sore.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not sure, kiddo.”

Before Peter can think, he’s jumping up from the sofa to rush up the stairs to cry? Scream? Curse his Pop to hell and back for being so unreliable? The sound of Steve following behind with tired attempts to console him is drowned out by the heavy sobs forcing their way out of Peter’s helpless lungs.

Just when he thinks everything is going to be okay, it isn’t. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was curious even though I’m sure no one cares: Steve was 21 (he turns 39 in this story) and Tony was 32 (he is currently 50) when they got married in December of 1999. They had Peter two years later on July 7th, 2001 — I searched EVERYWHERE for a canonical birthday for Peter Parker, but couldn’t find a thing so I chose to make him a Cancer — making him 16 years old at this point in the story. Bucky is 40, and entirely too old to be dealing with ANYONE’S bullshit.
> 
> As always, my girl in the chair, HalcyonSeasons came through for your girl.

Lately, Peter has found himself in a constant state of confliction, and it’s easy to be perturbed about it.

The things that have brought upon such a feeling include his parents, their divorce, Liz and her impending departure to college, Steve’s boyfriend, and why Tony is being so unreliable lately.

Among these things, he’s currently indecisive over which pair of jeans he wants as he checks out his reflection in the fitting room mirror of Zumiez.

He sighs to himself and further inspects the fit and design of the denim with a pout.

Peter has plenty of clothes already, but since he’ll be staying practically the whole summer with his Dad, Steve figured the teenager needs more clothes and thought giving him his credit card and dropping him off at the mall would be a suitable way to make up for the fact that Tony is actively pissing off everyone at the lake house.

It has only been two days since Steve told him that Tony is too busy to have Peter around, and in that time, Peter has cried three times to Ned over the phone, who also burst into hysterics when he came to terms with being away from his best friend until August.

That also means Peter will never get his chance with Liz.

There’s a sharp knock on the door of the fitting room. “Everything going okay in there?” the fitting room attendant asks.

“I’m fine,” he says back, snapping right out of his trance and scrambling to get his clothes together.

He buys both pairs of pants and a few graphic t-shirts that total up to more than what he’s used to spending on himself, but Steve is adamant about Peter getting a wardrobe for the summer. He has only visited one store in the two hours he’s been at the mall, but truthfully his heart isn’t fully invested in shopping at the moment. Getting new stuff is nice, but at what cost?

Curling up in bed and waiting for the summer to end sounds better than doing this, but that definitely isn't going to happen if Steve has anything to say about it.

The teen boy sits in the half-full food court, people-watching with his shopping bad awkwardly tucked between his shins under the table. He taps his fingers on the table boredly, wondering what Ned or May could be up to.

A second later, his phone chirps and vibrates.

 _How is it going?_ his Dad says.

Peter reads it over a few times, willing himself to not respond like a smartass.

_Everything’s fine._

_You’re sure?_

Peter rolls his eyes. “What do you want?” he grunts under his breath.

 _Yeah_.

He thinks that’s the end of the conversation until his phone vibrates with another text about five minutes later.

_Have fun. Love you, kiddo!_

Peter sighs and remembers Tony telling him about how enamored with having a baby Steve was when he was born.

Steve knows as much as Peter that nothing is fine, and it shows in the way he’s been overcompensating for Tony’s irresponsibility with giving Peter his credit card and not forcing him to do chores around the house. Peter recognizes that his Dad does feel guilty and highly responsible for their current position, so taking his aggressions out on Steve isn’t going to work.

_Love you too. When can you come get me?_

_You’re already done?_

_Yup._

Another five minutes passes before Steve texts back.

_I don’t have the truck with me atm but Bucky is getting off work soon. He can come get you if you don’t mind waiting another half an hour._

Peter glances at the time then the single shopping bag under the table. Another thirty minutes can’t hurt.

_Ok!_

He tucks his phone in his back pocket, grabs his Zumiez bag, and takes another lap around the mall.

 

 

Twenty-five minutes later with a new pair of sneakers and a few more shirts in hand, Peter stands at an entrance, eyes glued to his phone screen as he waits for Bucky’s pickup truck to pull up on the curb. Whilst doing so, the score for Interstellar fills his ears and for a split second, he can’t be more at peace.

This situation could be worse.

Despite the divorce, there isn’t too much of a downside to the current events of their little family. Summer will be over soon and he’ll be back in Queens with both Tony and Steve, and everything will be alright.

_Right?_

Just then, Bucky’s pickup truck is pulling up and parking at the curb. Peter stuffs his phone in his pocket and climbs into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” he greets Bucky quietly and receives a reserved nod in return. The man is dressed in his usual all-black attire with that frumpy and unenthused expression on his face.

Seriously, what did Steve see in this guy?

Even with the chocolate cake incident solved, Peter can’t help feeling an overflow of great annoyance generating from Bucky’s way.

Peter quickly remembers that by summer’s end, he’ll not only be with his parents but Bucky as well. His options are one parent who suddenly took a disinterest in being around him and the other whose new boyfriend is a goth who has probably been to jail and only smiles when the stars align a certain way.

Maybe there are a few downsides. Living with May is always an option.

Peter fiddles with his earphone cords as they hang from his ears, anxiously focusing on staring out the window and not making eye contact with Bucky.

They arrive to the house before six, and Steve already has dinner going in the kitchen with the dining table set for five instead of three.

“We having the President and his wife over?” Bucky asks, then places a wet kiss to Steve’s cheek as he stirs a pot of pasta. There’s a chicken dish in the oven and another pot of what looks like marinara sauce on another burner.

Peter awkwardly waves to his Dad when he strides into the room for a bottle of water.

“Sam and Peggy are coming over, remember?” Steve reminds him and feeds him a noodle. “How was work?”

“Fine.”

Steve nods and looks at Peter, then at the two shopping bags in his hand. His face drops in disappointment.

“That’s it?”

Peter shrugs. “I didn’t need much.”

“I let you loose with my credit card all day and you come back with only two bags. Unbelievable.”

Bucky snorts and crosses his arms across his chest. “You don’t even let me have your credit card.”

“That’s ‘cus you have one and you’re not my kid,” Steve replies with just as much snark and rolls his eyes playfully down at the food.

“Really? Then why do I call you Daddy all the time?”

At that, Peter slightly chokes on his sip of water and doesn’t wait for a reaction out of either of them before he fumbles out, “Lemme know when dinner is ready,” and makes a hasty retreat up to the guest room. Behind him, he can hear Bucky snickering and Steve pretending to reprimand him.

 

\- - 

 

  
About an hour later, their guests arrive and from the moment Steve lets them in, the house is filled with laughter and familiar greetings.

“Peter, we have company!” Steve shouts, and Peter is downstairs just seconds later at the center of attention between his Dad, Peggy, and his unofficial godfather on Steve’s side, Sam, having a drink in the living room.

“Hey, kid!” Sam greets him excitedly, arms already open for a hug. Peter gladly returns the gesture and his cheeks practically burn with how hard he’s smiling.

Sam is without a doubt Peter’s favorite of his parents’ friends. Uncle Rhodey and Natasha, his godmother, are cool and prominent in Peter’s life, but he barely has the chance to see Sam since he moved back to D.C. for work, and every moment Peter has with him is all the more fun and special. Sam is Steve’s best friend and he’s known the man since he was old enough to remember anybody.

“Hey!” Peter squeaks, letting the embrace go and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“How’s my favorite nephew?” Sam asks, showing off his signature gap tooth when he grins.

“I’ve been better,” Peter admits, deliberately avoiding the knowing look Steve is shooting his way.

“Your parents’ divorce?” he suggests.

Steve‘s cheeks redden at the boldness of the question, but it’s to be expected from someone as outspoken as Sam. To save himself further embarrassment, he clears his throat to mumble something about checking up on dinner, points to the kitchen, and speedwalks out of sight.

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Dramatic,” she mumbles and follows after him.

Peter waits until she’s out of earshot before grimacing with a shrug. “Yeah, among other things.”

Sam nods in understanding. “Don’t worry—we’ll have lots of time to discuss ‘other things’ before you go back home.”

“You’re staying around?”

“I got transferred to an office in town so yeah, I’ll be around.” Sam crosses his arms and squints his eyes. “Steve told me about everything. You adjusting okay?”

Peter shrugs and looks at the ground. “Everything’s not so bad. Just a lot of change—I mean I’m a senior now, my parents are splitting up, and the girl I like has no clue how I feel about her.”

“And I suppose the ‘Dad has a new boyfriend’ thing isn’t helping much of anything.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s just as disappointed as I am about me being here all summer.”

Sam considers it with a nod. “Yeah, the guy likes a total of two things and that’s being left the hell alone and your Dad, but I don’t think you necessarily fell into the ‘dislike’ category with him.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Peter grumbles, pacing slowly around the living room with his own arms crossed now. “I mean, wouldn’t you feel put out if some kid came to live with you all summer?”

“I would,” Sam sighs, exhaling loudly when he sinks into the loveseat. “But you’re not just some kid. You are the son of the guy he’s dating, and that puts you on his nice list. You’re overthinking it.”

Peter can’t help rolling his eyes. “I just wanna go home.”

“I know, kid. Whatever it is with Tony will be resolved soon enough.”

“You’re just saying that,” Peter guesses, making a seat out of the sofa armrests. “I’d wanna stay with May anyway, not Tony. Don’t wanna be anywhere I’m not really wanted.”

Before Sam can say anything, Steve reenters the living room, thumbs pointing behind him at the dining room. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces and glances between the two of them.

“Alright,” Sam says, standing and reaching over to grab the back of Peter's neck, making the teen tense and giggle from the tickle. “Let’s go, Pete.”

 

 

Peter sits between Steve and Sam, taking ravenous bites of his chicken while the adults talk, joke, tell stories and laugh loudly over beer and wine. He’s not paying any attention to the conversation being had since it didn’t involve him and the chicken is too good to deviate from.

In fact, none of them directly referred to him until his second helping halfway through the dinner.

“Peter, where are you thinking of going next year?” Peggy asks him, sipping her wine with defined class that felt fresh out of a movie.

“In terms of like c-college?” He clears his throat and repeats “College, right?”

“Are you planning to go?”

“I mean, um, yeah,” Peter glances briefly at everyone eating and listening then back to Peggy. “I wanted to stay close to home so Columbia, NYU, Fordham, and stuff are on the list. Maybe ESU ‘cus of their science program.”

“That’s what you wanna major in?” she continues.

“Biochemistry,” he tells her and pierces his fork through a piece of chicken. “Histology and, uh, cell biology. That kinda stuff. I’d love to work in a lab.”

“Well, that’s rather cool. It’s good you’ve got an idea of what you wanna do. Your Dad switched his major—what was it?” She points to Sam for help. “Maybe three times?”

“Four times,” Sam corrects her with a snicker, letting on something else. Now Peter is curious.

“Why so many times?” he asks, turning to Steve.

Steve’s cheeks are turning beet red, but Peggy is pushing his shoulder lightly while keeping in a giggle of her own behind a big grin.

“Go on and tell him,” she encourages. Bucky is smirking around his beer while Sam contains a laugh behind his hand.

Steve sighs in defeat and meets nobody’s eyes. “I started off as an art major, but for some reason I was taking a world history course, and there may have been this criminal justice major in my class who—”

“May have been!” Sam exclaims. “Steve, tell the boy the truth.”

“Okay, fine,” Steve grunts out. “There _was_ this girl taking criminal justice and I had a bit of a crush on her, so I switched my major to take the same classes as her.”

“Tell the whole truth.” Peggy jostles his shoulder again.

“Alright, fine. I switched my major three times—”

“Four,” Bucky chimes in now.

“— _four_ times because she was a triplet whose other sisters were forensic science and pre-law majors and I didn’t realize there was three of them until after I spent a fuckload of money on textbooks and begged my way into their classes. It was really embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Sam guffaws. “You thought this one girl was taking all these classes! And didn’t think to ask her name!”

They practically howl with unchanneled laughter at Steve’s expense, and the story mixed with the defeated look on Steve’s face gets a giggle or two out of Peter.

“And to make it worse,” Peggy says between bursts of laughter, “you didn’t even make a move! You got into these classes, lost as all hell, and just stared at them! Oh, how sad!”

Steve juts his chin out to avoid laughing but fails. “Alright, cut me some slack. I was a dumb freshman.”

“Yeah, but no one is _that_ dumb,” Bucky adds.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles then looks at Peter. “Lesson of the day: don’t be like me. Choose your major and stick with it.”

Peggy supplies cheesecake from her diner as dessert. In the midst of eating his slice, Sam nudges Peter’s elbow.

“What are you looking to do ‘round here before you go home?”

In all honesty, Peter hasn’t thought about doing much of anything unless it involved swimming or taking bike rides. “What is there to do?”

“There’s a buzzing teen scene in the city. Maybe you can find a party to go to if you don’t feel like hanging around Grandpa One and Two all summer.” He flicks his fork at Steve and Bucky.

“Fuck you,” Bucky mutters harmlessly into his slice of cake.

“And I could always use help at the diner if you’re interested in making a little money,” Peggy suggests with a casual shrug.

“A job,” Peter says. That sounds better than Steve giving him money out of guilt.

“By God, I didn't even think the boy knew that word with how spoiled you’ve got him,” she teases, shooting playful daggers Steve’s way to which he repels with a sneer.

“He’s _not_ spoiled!” Steve insists, and the collective groan to come from the three of them is almost harmonious. “He’s _not_!”

“Love, do you know what a W-2 is?” Peggy asks him, and Peter immediately side glances at Steve for help, outing himself as utterly clueless.

“Have you ever had sleep for dinner?” Sam adds, halfway jokingly with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you know how to do your own laundry?” she goes on, and Peter can’t help flinching at the absurdity of the question.

“He’s from the Queens suburbs, not Mt. Olympus, guys,” Steve finally interjects, hands up in protest. “He’s _not_ spoiled.”

“Just very privileged,” Peter adds with a half-hearted shrug. “And yes, I can do my own laundry… kinda… I mean, I turned a few pairs of underwear pink, but it’s fine.”

The rest of them, Steve included, join in on the big laugh, and Peter can’t get too mad since it is pretty funny.

After dessert, Peggy helps Steve clean everything up while Bucky and Sam retire to a game of pool in the den. Peter sits in the living room, scrolling through his phone and texting Ned in between looking up at the house hunting show playing on the television every once in a while.

Halfway through the second episode of the marathon, the kitchen light flicks out and Peggy and Steve enter the living room.

“So, darling, we were talking about it,” Peggy begins, poking Steve in the chest playfully. “And we wanted to know how you really feel about working at the diner.”

Peter mutes the television and repositions himself to face them. “I’d like that. Like, a lot. But it wouldn’t really be fair if I don’t apply, and I’ve never had a real job before either.”

“Think of it as a favor for your Dad,” she explains, cocking her head in Steve’s direction and approaching the loveseat Peter is on. “In terms of being fair, you won’t have to worry about me treating you any different from the rest of my staff.”

Peggy cups her soft hands and uses gentle pressure to squeeze the fat of his cheeks all the while puckering her lips and babying her voice. “Even if you are my dear nephew.”

“Peggy, he’s sixteen. Not six.”

Peggy turns to glare at Steve, hands planted square on her hips. “Well, _some of us_ didn’t have the pleasure of seeing him at age six because—”

“Okay, okay, okay, I got it,” Steve interjects, waving his hands around. “I got it. Shoulda brought the kid around more. _Please_.”

She turns back to Peter, smiling again. “I promise, love, it’ll be nothing too complicated. Just bussing tables, doing dishes, and the like.”

Even with no job experience, Peter can definitely do that. “Okay,” he agrees. “When do I start?”

“Come by sometime this week and we’ll get everything squared away. Just bring your direct deposit info and you can be starting as soon as Saturday.”

Peter winces, sharing a quick glance of uncertainty with Steve. “Do I need to bring a W-2?”

Peggy glares at Steve again, but her slick comment doesn’t even make it out before Bucky and Sam enter the living room, empty beer bottles in hand.

“I take it the game went well,” Peggy says.

“I won twice and got $100 out of it, which means I get to take my best guy out for dinner this week,” Bucky boasts, smirking at Sam who has the look of a man who just lost a hundred dollars on a pool game. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s a child present!” Peggy exclaimes jokingly, which Peter can’t help rolling his eyes at.

 

 

It’s nearing eleven o’clock when Peggy and Sam decide to take off for the night.

Steve walks Sam to his car, and on the way out of the door, Peggy pulls Peter in for a gentle hug.

“Don’t forget to stop by the diner this week, okay?” she reminds him after letting go.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I can’t pay you much, but it’s better than just being here all day and night, I imagine.” Peggy pauses to examine him for a brief moment then continues. “Are you alright?”

“I’m as okay as I can be,” he admits, staring at his feet to avoid that sincere look she’s giving him. “It’s just, ugh, lots of change going on at the moment.”

She considers this and twists her mouth up in a sympathetic half smile. “Change can be good.”

Her hand rubs his arm comfortingly before landing on his face again. “Everything will work itself out.”

“I sure hope you’re right.”

“Darling, I’m a woman—I’m _always_ right.”

Peter can’t defy _that_ logic.

He and Steve watch them both get into Sam’s car and drive up the dirt road. Steve waves away at them and stands on the front porch until the car’s headlights are no longer visible.

“You have fun?” Steve asks Peter after shutting and locking the front door.

“Yeah, it was fun.”

“Good!” Steve says between a loud yawn on his way into the living room. Bucky is laid out on the loveseat in the, half asleep until Steve nudges his leg and nods upward.

The brunet groans and groggily stands to follow Steve.

“G’night, Pete!” Steve says, leading Bucky through the living room and up the stairs with their hands interlocked and tucked close to Steve’s torso.

“Night, guys,” he mutters.

Peter has never seen Steve and Tony do that.

He hates to admit that they’re kind of cute.

 

\- - 

 

A couple of afternoons later, with his banking info saved in the Notes of his cell phone, Peter enters Peggy’s diner. The lunch rush looks like it’s diminishing, so he patiently waits by the jukebox until Peggy and the staff have a moment of rest when the last group of customers leave.

“Is it always this busy?” Peters asks when she emerges from the kitchen with not a hair out of place despite the chaos of running a diner during lunchtime.

“Only in the mornings,” Peggy replies, patting his shoulder to lead him towards the host podium near the entrance of the restaurant. “Come, let's get you all set up.”

Peggy logs into the computer atop the stand and gestures for him to stand beside her. The screen displays a payroll roster in a smart banking software system, and he enters his information in all the spaces Peggy points to.

“Perfect. When can you start?”

“Um,” Peter hums. “Anytime, I guess? But, like, don’t I need training or something?”

Just as he asks, Peggy gestures sideways at a nearby busgirl for reference. “You’re to take away used dishes, clean off tables, and set up for the next customer,” she narrates as Peter watches the busgirl doing just as Peggy had said with putting dirty dishes into a bucket, wiping down the table and seats with disinfectant spray, and replacing the utensils.

“And after doing so, you’re in here,” she continues, leading him behind the bar counter and into the fast paced kitchen where cooks are stirring and mixing and servers are bustling around for their orders. “You put the dishes in the wash, take them out when they’re done, and set them on the drying rack.”

Peter observes another busgirl emptying the dishwasher and placing plates and cups into blue plastic bins. “What about in downtime? Ya know, while the dishes are washing and stuff?”

“There’s always something to do, even in a place this small. There’s wrapping utensils, taking out trash, wiping tables, sweeping,” she rattles off each task on a finger. “It’s nothing I know you’re incapable of doing. We’re gonna love having you around, Peter.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it around here too,” Peter agrees, glancing around his surrounding and not missing that every member of the staff is female. Ned is never going to believe this.

“That’s good to hear. Let’s go print you out a schedule.”

Sam is sitting at the bar overlooking a menu when Peter and Peggy exit the kitchen. He shoots them both a happy look then puts his menu down.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you guys here!” he announces obnoxiously, but Peggy rolls her eyes with a little smile and snatches the menu from him.

“Wasn’t expecting to see the owner of a restaurant you dine in six days out of seven in said restaurant? That’s convincing,” she quips. “I don’t know why you even bother looking at the menu when you get the same thing every time, Sam.”

“Maybe I wanted something different!” he reasons with mock offense to which Peggy nods with immense disinterest at and excuses herself to the kitchen to place the order herself.

“Been doing okay, kid?” Sam wonders, looking at Peter with concern.

“Yeah,” he says then thinks about it. “Y-yeah, I’m good. Everything’s okay. I’ll be working here for the summer, so that’s cool.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad rap. When do you start?”

“Um, I don’t know, but maybe sometime next week which is good, ‘cus I need to get out the house before I explode.”

Sam pauses, looks to the ceiling, and then sideways in calculated thought. “You got plans tonight?”

Unless Sam considered going on a weird video call date with Ned as plans, then it’s a no. Peter shakes his head.

The moment Sam opens his mouth to speak, a young girl about Peter’s age with light brown individual braids and an outfit that looks fresh off a runway appears from behind and has a seat in the bar stool beside Sam.

“American music all sounds so much the same and yet so different that it’s hard to decide what to listen to,” she complains in what Peter detects to be a foreign accent, and waves her hand dismissively at the pop song playing on the jukebox.

Sam chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _Wow_ ,” he mutters and looks up at Peter. “This is my niece, Shuri. Shuri, this is my godson, Peter.”

The girl—Shuri—flashes a broad and inviting smile his way, and it warms Peter right up. “Nice to meet you!”

“You too!” He clears his throat and nervously fidgets with his fingers. “If you don’t mind me asking, where're you from? Your accent isn’t one I’ve heard before, I don’t think.”

“Wakanda,” she tells him proudly. “East Africa.”

Peter cocks his head, intrigued. “Wow. That’s... _far_.” He does not recall Sam mentioning that he has a brother or sister—let alone one that resides in Africa—but he can’t really say he’s ever asked either.

“And you?” She asks now, inconspicuously giving him a once over.

“Me?”

“Where are you from? I cannot say I’m familiar with your accent either.”

“Oh, uh, I’m from Queens.” For no reason, he absently points upward as though to navigate the way there. “New York. It’s one is the burroughs.”

“Why haven’t we met before? I’m here nearly every summer and have never seen you.” Shuri asks, and Peter’s insides get even warmer.

“Uh, it’s my first summer up here. My Dad has a house here.”

“Oh, but why now?”

Peter swallows a lump. “Oh, well my parents are, um, kinda separating so I’m here until everything works itself out.”

Shuri blinks then nods to herself, taking in the information with a pitiful smile. “Hmph,” she hums. “And do you like it here?”

“I mean, it’s okay.”

“I can relate,” Shuri says, tapping Sam’s bicep. “The first time Uncle Sam told me he was bringing me to New York, I thought he meant the Empire State Building or Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s penthouse apartment, but I guess Peter from Queens will have to suffice,” she teases with a nonchalant shrug.

Peter can feel himself blushing, and if he’s anything like Steve, it’s spreading passed his cheeks and down his chest. “Yeah, I guess I’m alright.”

“Well, Shuri’s having a little get together tonight if you wanna go,” Sam prompts, looking between them two. “Could be nice for you to get around some people your age and make some friends.”

“Ah, _yes_!” Shuri exclaims, dark brown eyes widening with joy. “Please do come, Peter!”

Uncontrolling of his grin and rapid nodding, Peter makes an affirmative sound and fidgets even more under Shuri’s excited demeanor. “Yeah, that sounds fun. I’ll be there.” He points to Sam. “Your house?”

Sam’s eyes roll upward and stay glued to the ceiling. “Call me damn crazy for letting my sixteen year old niece throw a party while I’m away for the night, but yeah.”

“It’s not a party,” Shuri insists, rolling her eyes as well with a sneaky smirk. “It’s a kickback, Uncle Sam.”

“A bunch of teenagers in my house playing loud music and doing nasty stuff sounds like a party to me.”

Shuri looks at Peter. “It’s nothing crazy.”

“I’ll still go,” he assures her.

“Oh, hi, Shuri!” Peggy’s voice cuts in then. “Long time, no see. How are you, love?”

Shuri transfers her radiating warmth to Peggy now. “I’m good, Ms. Carter!”

“Good! I see you’ve met Peter. He’s gonna be working here for the summer.”

“I’ll pray for him.”

Just then, Peter’s pocket buzzes, so he pulls his phone out to check his text.

 _I’m outside,_ his Dad typed.

“Hey, um, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys later,” Peter says to the group at large, starting to tuck his phone back into his pocket. Unexpectedly, he is stopped by a pair of soft hands cupping his and sliding the device right out of his hands.

Shuri taps around on the screen for a moment then hands it back to Peter. “Text me,” she invites him playfully.

Peter, at a loss for words, nods with a goofy grin on his face. “Y-yeah, I will. I’ll text you.”

“Oh boy,” Sam grumbles out of the side of his mouth, but both Shuri and Peter ignore him.

“Here is your schedule,” Peggy says, handing him a freshly printed piece of receipt paper that he stuffs in his jean pocket. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright-eyed and bushy tailed!”

“Thanks, Peggy!” he says on his way out, waving to them and then turning beet red when Shuri winks and waves back.

 

\- - 

 

“So, is this party kinda making up for the one you missed at Liz’s?” Ned asks.

Peter spins in circles on his heels, rummaging through every drawer and shelf in his room for the new pair of jeans he bought earlier this week.

“Uh, kinda? I mean, I’m not necessarily anxious to go, but—“

“That sounds fake. Bet you ten bucks you’re sweating right now. You’re sweating, and you only sweat when there’s a cute girl involved.”

Peter looks at his reflection in the full-length mirror and surely enough, he’s definitely sweating. On the phone propped against his bedside lamp, Ned’s face is boredly slumping on his hand as he plays a game on his laptop.

“Okay, maybe there’s a cute girl involved. She’s really nice and funny,” Peter admits, scratching his head and searching the floor for his jeans. “She’s from Wakanda.”

Ned raises an eyebrow. “Where’s that?”

“East Africa. And get this: she’s my godfather’s niece! Crazy, right?”

“Wouldn’t that be incest?”

“I never said I wanted to, like, ya know, date her!” Peter insists, flailing his arms about. “I just said she’s cute.”

“Sounds like incest.”

“You do know Sam and I aren’t actually related right?”

Ned scoffs. “Again, sounds fake.”

Peter huffs and continues to search for his jeans.

 

 

“You look nice,” Steve comments when Peter, in his new black jeans, an ironed white button down, and Converse sneakers, comes down the stairs at ten after seven.

“Thanks! It’s not too much for just a kickback, right?”

“What’s a kickback?”

“Seriously, Dad?”

“Look, I’m old. I can’t keep up with you kids’ lingo nowadays,” he says, zipping up his jacket and grabbing the car keys. “In any case, you look fine for the occasion.”

“Good. That’s all I need to know,” he mumbles to himself on the way out of the garage door.

  
They arrive to Sam’s house half an hour later.

Steve puts the truck in park and turns to Peter. “I’ll be up here to get you at midnight, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

“Your phone charged?”

Peter checks his battery. “I’m at sixty percent.”

That worries a line in the middle of Steve’s eyebrows, but Peter puts his hand up in defense. “I’ve got my charger, Dad. It’s fine.”

He frowns a little, narrowing his eyes at Peter for a moment then softening when his son grins at him. “Okay, kid. Promise you’ll call me if you need me.”

“I will,” Peter promises, undoing his seatbelt and hopping out of the truck. “I’ll see you!”

“Be respectful of Sam’s stuff!” Steve yells after him when he begins to walk up the cobblestone driveway.

“Dad, I know!” Peter yells back, waving him off but the truck stays parked even as Peter steps onto the porch, rings the doorbell, and waits. Although muffled, music and people can be heard on the inside.

Barely a second later, the door is opening, revealing Shuri in an eccentric, thigh length, sleeveless cherry red dress with ruffles at the neck. Her braids are in a high bun showing off the precious gold hoops in her ears.

Peter’s breath hitches.

“Peter!” She exclaims.

“H-hi,” he stutters with a nervous yet useless wave. “You look, uh, just wow. Am I underdressed?”

Shuri looks over Peter’s outfit and nods approvingly. “You’re fine. Going all out for every occasion is a thing with me, so if anything I’m overdressed. Please come in!” 

Shuri reaches out to take Peter by his elbow and pull him through the threshold. Just as the door shuts behind him, his Dad pulls off and out of sight.

She guides him through the front room and into the living area where the bulk of the party is. Kids about Peter’s age and older stand around having conversations to the side while a select few dance to the hip-hop bumping through the speaker system installed in the ceiling. A few more kids are idly scattered throughout the family room, but Shuri walks right past them to bring him into the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, already opening the fridge and poking her head in. “We’ve got juice, water, soda, and I hear white people like beer so we’ve got some of that, too.”

Taken aback, Peter makes a noise of genuine shock. “Um… uh, I’m not—?” he flounders.

Shuri looks back at him with a mischievous grin, chuckling as she tosses him a can of Sprite. “I’m joking. Not about the white people liking beer—that’s true. There’s no alcohol here, ‘cus if there was, my Uncle would send my head in a box back to Wakanda.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, tapping the drink’s tin top with two fingers and looking at his shoes. “And FYI, I’m like twenty percent Puerto Rican, so I’m not technically fully white,” he jokes back, and she laughs along.

“That percentage makes no sense, but you’re my new friend so I believe you,” she snickers and then jerks her thumb towards the living room. “Do you wanna meet some of my people so you’re not following me around like a lost puppy?”

“Puppy,” Peter repeats. “Cut me some slack here, Shuri. I’m the new kid.”

“Which means I have free reign to roast you at anytime, so either you come correct or you will get fried,” Shuri says and shrugs her shoulders as though to say It’s a fair warning.

“That’s not fair!” Peter exclaims, trying his damndest to shield his expanding smile. “I can’t even roast you back! You have, like, nothing wrong with you.”

“This is true,” she agrees, nodding with mock-sympathy. “Guess you’ll just have to keep up. Now, come!”

Shuri spends a fair portion of the evening introducing Peter to nearly everyone at the function including some of her cousins, locals who she’s befriended over her summers here, and even a few of the young waitresses at Peggy’s diner. Although there are a lot of names to remember, Peter enjoys being invited into conversations and actually being face-to-face with people his own age for the first time in almost two weeks.

Even with this, he’s still shyly standing in a random corner, nursing a second can of soda as he watches everyone else enjoy themselves. It’s nothing yet everything he expected a high school party to be like, and a part of him wonders if he would’ve felt this reserved at Liz’s party.

Shuri and her friends are conducting a dance circle in the middle of the living room floor. Everyone is in sync with each other and it’s fun to watch the harmony of it all; it’s influential enough to get him two-stepping to himself as the song plays overhead.

Confident that no one else is watching, Peter goes so far as to add a hip roll or two to his awkward routine.

“You like to dance?” someone says next to him.

Peter snaps out of his trance to look at the boy rocking next to him. His eyes are comically large and brown, like they have no other choice but to wander and evoke giddiness in whoever looks into them. He has a few inches on Peter, a lean yet tone build with skin as deep as midnight and smooth as butter.

Peter blinks to make sure he’s seeing him right.

“Um, no, not really. Dancing’s not really my, uh, thing, I guess?” He knows his cheeks and neck are flushed red and he’s grateful the lights are low enough so that this really cute boy doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, same!” the other boy agrees, joining in on Peter’s awkward back and forth rock. “It’s not your thing, but you’re doing great!”

Peter is positive he looks like a tomato right now. “You’re just being nice.”

“I don’t give out compliments that easily, so I’m really not.”

Just when the nerve to ask for this guy’s name ebbs within Peter, the song abruptly switches to “Bodak Yellow” and he uses every ounce of his self control to not yell out and make a fool of himself because he and Ned really love this song.

Judging by the whoops and cheers from the dance floor, so does everyone else.

“Oh, I love this song!” the boy exclaims, full out body rocking to the fast paced beat and rapping along when the chorus kicks in. Excitement gets the best of Peter, and he escalates his hip rolls to body rolls.

“Ah, see, I knew you had it in you!” the other boy exclaims, pointing accusingly at Peter's dance moves. “Come dance with me!”

“Wait, wait, what—!”

He doesn’t get a chance to decline before he’s being dragged towards the dance circle. Everybody’s body is pressed against another’s and before he knows it, Peter finds himself squished in the eye of the jumble with the boy dancing against him in rhythm to the song.

This escalated quickly.

But Peter can’t really complain.

He feels almost ridiculous for mumbling the lyrics to himself when the cluster around him is nearly screaming out bar after bar. If he were anywhere else that wasn’t with Ned, he’d pretend this song doesn’t give him life, but what better place to get hyped to than a cool party at his godfather’s house?

Finally letting go of his insecurities, Peter joins in on the sing-a-long, censoring himself when necessary and gyrating when required. He doesn’t even stop himself when some people pull their phones out to film the festivities even though he’s sure he looks out of place being the only white boy of the handful of white people there to join the mosh pit.

By the tail end of the song, the boy’s hands have crept to Peter’s sides to hold their bodies near. High off the rush of the song, he can’t bring himself to care about being in such a position, so he lets himself be swayed and rocked in the arms of this complete stranger.

“Hey, can I show you something?” The boy is unashamedly close enough to Peter that he whispers right into his ear.

“Um, sure.”

Peter lets himself be led out of the mass of teenagers by the wrist to the kitchen where the lighting is better and the boy’s face can be seen better.

He’s even cuter than Peter initially thought.

This confuses his head, yet his body is very sure.

“You want a water?” he asks, getting two bottles from the refrigerator and handing one to Peter. “You worked up a pretty good sweat.”

“I did, huh? I, uh, really love that song.”

“Couldn't tell by the way you were dancing.”

As though to fuck up Peter even further, the boy begins gulping down his water with his head thrown back, showing off the expanse of his long neck and bobbing Adam’s Apple.

All Peter can do is stare. “Wow,” he says under his breath.

“Hmm?” The boy finishes his bottle and tosses it in a waste basket.

“Uh, I said, um, what’d you wanna show me? You said you wanted to show me something, so I was just wondering what, um, did you wanna show me.”

Charmed by Peter’s befuddlement, the boy flashes a white smile at him and takes his hand again, this time interlocking their fingers as he guides him into the hallway and through a door that leads into the basement.

“You sure we’re supposed to be down here?” Peter ask tentatively on the way down, shutting the door behind them. Sam’s basement is a certified man cave equipped with a large sofa, flat screen mounted on the wall, pool table, and mini fridge.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” the other boy insists. “What I wanna show you is a little private.”

“Oh, like a tattoo or something?” Peter guesses, oblivious at the way that absolute fascination on his new friend’s face.

“Or something,” he repeats, closing in the space between them. “You’re so fucking cute.”

Peter stammers to say thank you, but the words are aborted when the other boy presses his plump lips firmly on Peter’s. Awestruck and halfway delighted, Peter’s eyes widen as he registers what’s happening.

He’s being kissed… he’s kissing someone!

A _cute_ someone!

His mind races a mile a minute, and he registers what’s going on quickly enough to return the kiss in the best way he knows how. He’d only ever practiced kissing on his pillow and wrist, but none of the techniques he’d seen and learned in movies seem relevant to just doing what he feels is right.

The kiss remains close-mouthed and solid until the other boy pulls away to look at Peter.

“Sorry,” he says, staring down at Peter’s lips.

The warmth of his body encourages Peter to snake an uncertain hand around his waist to ease the other boy forward. “I—I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m, uh, that was fine.”

It was more than fine, but Peter’s lips are tingling too much to say so.

“Just been thinking about doing that since you came in with Shuri,” he chuckles, dipping low to meet Peter’s eyes. “Why have I never seen you before?”

“I’m new around here,” Peter says shortly. “New kid. I’m new.”

“That explains it, then.” Another smile. “Can I keep kissing you?”

At a loss for words in the depth of this boy’s eyes, Peter nods.

The second kiss is more forward than the first. Even though he has no idea what he’s doing, Peter follows the other boy’s lead and angles his head in just the right way to get his tongue tangled with his.

This feels… well, this is good. New, but good.

This is worth waiting his entire teen life for.

Without much to think about now, Peter settles both hands on the boy’s hips and brings him closer. The boy complies, backing into Peter until he’s pressed against the wall. The wet sounds of their lips suctioning on and off each other is loud in the empty basement, and it eggs both boys on to deepen their kisses and expand their touch.

Peter never would’ve imagined that something this simple could feel so good.

The other boy’s hands rub along Peter’s lower back with the lightest of caresses, and he can’t fight the candid moan that escapes his mouth and flows right into the other’s. Any embarrassment Peter might have felt for doing that diminishes because the other boy only kisses him deeper and cups both of his hands over Peter’s backside.

Another moans elicits from between Peter’s lips when his crotch rubs against the other’s and there’s a solid weight rubbing back.

Peter’s eyes fly open.

“Oh, my god,” he gasps, grinding back and forth with the boy.

The sensation of rubbing himself on something this way isn’t new, but it’s never felt this way before. The other boy is just as hard as he is, and he moves against Peter in a way that makes sparks ignite behind his eyes while his limbs tingle with unchanneled desire.

Peter is not sure where to put his hands, but they’re squeezing somewhere on the boy and his knees are weakening. The pressure builds deep within him and he can’t focus on where it’s going, but he’s aware of the kisses being peppered on his neck.

“Oh, gosh,” Peter gasps against his own will, wrapping his hand around the back of the other’s boys neck to urge his lips on. “Oh, my god. I’m, uh—”

Their hips meet for another few moments before everything and nothing overcomes Peter’s senses, and he crumbles in the arms of the other boy. The height of pleasure flushes through him in rapid succession, so he chases it by continuing to grind against the other boy with little to no finesse.

“Oh, my god,” he says again into the boy’s neck, the weight of what just happened crashing down on him just as quickly as it occurred.

Did the other boy notice?

If he did, he doesn’t bring it up and keeps kissing on Peter’s neck. He glances down at his crotch, but he can’t tell if there’s a stain on his black jeans.

“Um, uh, I gotta go,” he blurts suddenly.

The boy pulls away to check Peter’s embarrassed expression. “Are you okay?”

“Y-y-yeah, I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s, uh, just that I, um, gotta go. I’m probably late for something at home.”

His new friend looks genuinely more concerned than disappointed and it shows in the way his eyes droop low to watch him. “Oh. That’s okay. I guess I’ll walk you out.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter insists, pushing passed him and covering his crotch with his hands. “I’ve really gotta go. Uh, it was nice to meet you. Th-thanks, I just gotta go. Bye!”

With all the strength his wobbly legs have, he runs up the stairs and darts to the exit. He thinks he hears Shuri calling his name, but he doesn’t stop to check.

The night air hits his face instantly, cooling the heat on his face and bringing him back to reality.

That really just happened.

 _Wow_.

He considers going back inside and being normal with the rest of the kids, but that sounds like it required too much energy to be worth it.

The time on his phone read half past ten. He calls his Dad’s number and on the third ring, the call connects and sleepy gruff voice says, “Hello.”

Peter stops pacing. “Hello?”

“Kid, it’s Bucky.”

“Oh, um, where’s my Dad?”

“He’s asleep.”

Typical Dad. “Um, I’m, uh, at this party at Sam’s.”

There’s a silence. Peter imagines Bucky is staring at the phone like it’d personally offended him.

“He told me to tell him when I’m ready to come home,” Peter continues, adjusting the front of his pants so that his briefs don’t stick to his skin. “I’m kinda ready to leave. Can you wake him for me?”

There’s another silence, this one shorter and more direct. “You said you’re at Sam’s?” he finally says.

“Yeah. I’m outside.”

Another silence.

“Okay,” he huffs. “I’ll come get you.”

The line clicks dead.

Peter stands there for a second.  
  
There goes that conflicting feeling again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all already know HalcyonSeasons did the damn thing with this chapter! We love a literate legend!

For once, Peter is actually relieved that Bucky has nothing to say to him. Peter’s mind is too loud with its own noise to hear Bucky should he decide to speak anyway.

“Thanks,” Peter mutters, and it’s barely audible as he jumps out the truck and rushes inside the house. The mess in his briefs is drying by the second, and all he wants to do is take a long bath that he’ll have to will himself not to drown in.

“Wait,” Bucky calls after Peter, halting his anxious sprint in the middle of the hallways towards the stairs. The criminal chooses _now_ to want to talk?

Peter turns, hand hovering over his crotch. “Yeah?”

There’s a tense minute of just staring between them—it’s more of Bucky analyzing the hell out of Peter with those vicious steel eyes of his, making the teenager feel about two inches tall the whole time he does so. Even as Peter stands there seemingly still, Bucky picks up on the minute fidgets and beads of sweat forming on his boyfriend’s son’s forehead.

Finally, Bucky narrows his gaze at Peter’s protective stance and asks him, “Kid, are you okay?”

Peter blinks up at him. Surely he didn’t hear him right.

“My name’s Peter, _not_ ‘Kid,’” he replies defensively.

“And my name is Bucky, not ‘Escaped Convict,’ but that doesn’t stop you from calling me that, now does it? ‘Sides, ‘Kid’ takes less energy to say.”

Peter winces. He supposes he hasn’t been too quiet about that little quip in the past. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re—” He clears his throat and heat pools right at his cheeks. “I just thought you—”

“I know what you thought.” Bucky waves it off. “I’m asking if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Peter grunts, shuffling away from him to distance himself.

“You’re a worse liar than your Dad. Jesus, I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“I’m not lying! I really am okay.”

Bucky rolls his eyes to the back of his head. “Don’t know why I expected you to tell me anything,” he says, walking past Peter to go upstairs. “Goodnight.”

“Wait!”

Bucky stops, but doesn’t turn to look down at him.

“Why are you asking if I’m okay?”

The older man sighs and spares a glance over his shoulder. “‘Cus you’re twitchier than usual. Didn’t think that was possible either, but here we are, I guess.”

Peter thinks about that and shifts from side to side to relieve the chaffing in his pants. “Nothing bad happened at the party. I had fun, but it was a lot at once. Lots of, um, people,” he tells him. “I just, ya know, wanted to come home.”

Bucky considers this and turns to face Peter. “Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Being under the intense scrutinization of someone as scary as Bucky isn’t something Peter is used to. He’s been on the receiving end of his Dad’s disappointed glare when he fails to do a chore or his Pop's arched eyebrow of dissatisfaction when he brings home a low grade, but this is different. For one thing, Bucky has never looked at Peter _this way_ , and if he’s honest with himself, Peter can’t describe what “this way” is.

His stare isn’t vacant or annoyed, but the man is not necessarily at ease either. It’d be a stretch on Peter's part to think Bucky actually cares about his well-being and that’s why he picked him up or asked him if he’s okay.

If anything, he just didn’t want to wake Steve.

“Whatever you say,” Bucky says with finality and continues up the stairs with surprisingly light steps.

Peter lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he is holding.

 

\- -

 

Sixteen seems like the perfect age to start driving, get a thing or two pierced, and in Peter’s case, experience a first kiss.

However, figuring out his sexuality?

That’s something different.

Ever since Peter was seven or so, he was certain he liked girls in that way that boys are socially expected to like girls. Amazingly enough, it baffled him to see that boys like girls in that way considering the most prominent relationship in his life was between two men.

Peter hasn’t been ignorant to how he feels towards other boys; obviously, he finds them to be attractive, but what happened at the party is the first time he did anything about it. It brought upon an entire array of questions for him.

What is his type, if he has one? When did he begin feeling this way? Is there a percentage on his attraction where he prefers men over women or women over men? Is he actually pansexual? Does he want to keep pursuing these feelings and fully embrace a lifestyle in which he is attracted to men and women? How did his parents figure out they were attracted to men? Should he tell them? Should he tell Ned? Sam? Peggy? May? Natasha? Uncle Rhodey?

This shouldn’t be so hard.

_Should it?_

If there’s one thing he does know, it’s that he _really_ likes this.

“C’mon, kiddo! We gotta get going or you’ll be late for your first day!” Steve hollers up the stairs.

Peter exhales out any unchanneled nerves and rolls out of bed to shower, brush his teeth, and put on the plain white t-shirt and black slacks Peggy provided him with.

“Excited?” Steve asks Peter, pouring creamer into his mug of coffee and stirring with a plastic spoon.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “A little nervous, too.”

“You’ll do fine!”

“What if I run into a mean customer or something?”

“You’re cleaning the tables, not serving them,” Steve reminds him then sips his coffee. “Then again, you’ve never cleaned anything a day in your life, so I see where you’re antsy,” he mutters behind his mug.

“Oh, sure, let’s just make fun of the spoiled brat,” Peter mutters with an eye roll.

Steve snickers and stirs his drink once again. “Oh, c’mon, Peter. You know you’re not a brat. Spoiled? _Absolutely_. But a good kid, nonetheless.”

“Okay, then how come you tried to tell Aunt Peggy and Uncle Sam I wasn’t spoiled?”

“Not to be dramatic, son, but I’d rather die than admit they are right,” he deadpans. “But seriously, you’re blessed if anything. You’re the product of two men who grew up with practically nothing who want more for their kid than what they had.”

“Pop was practically born into money, Dad. I don’t know if that’s true for him.”

Steve sighs, nodding in agreement and looking down thoughtfully into his coffee. “You’re right,” he agrees. “But just keep in mind that growing up with nothing doesn’t always mean materialistic things. Okay?”

Peter thinks about it for a moment then nods. “Yeah.”

Steve gives him a half smile. “Good. Now let’s go.”

 

\- -

 

Peggy’s diner is as busy as Peter expected it to be this early in the morning, with construction workers stopping in for a coffee and a sandwich as well as the businessmen and women sitting down for a full meal. Each customer is greeted with the friendly faces of pretty waitresses in their black and white checkered skirts, red short sleeve turtlenecks, white aprons, and stylish updos.

Peter almost feels like he’s in the way.

“We love a man who’s on time!” Peggy cheers upon seeing Peter and Steve enter the diner. “Hello, love!”

“Morning, Aunt Peg!” Peter waves and points to the podium. “Do I, uh, clock in now or—?”

Peggy checks her watch. “You’re about ten minutes early. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, I had toast.”

“How do you expect to do a six hour shift running on just toast?” she nearly yells incredulously, hands flailing to her hips. “I see why the boy is so skinny—you barely feed him,” she says to Steve now, who shakes his head with an unfazed eye roll.

“He’s skinny ‘cus he takes after me,” Steve replies. “Skinny runs in the family.”

Judging by the unimpressed sideways glare she shoots his way and considering there’s no blood between Peter and Steve given May was artificially inseminated with Tony’s sperm, Peggy’s not buying it. A very shallow and superficial part of Peter wishes that it would've been Steve instead of Tony because he might be a solid five-eleven, _at least_ , instead of an awkward five-eight.

“Do you want some real food before you start?” Peggy asks, rubbing Peter’s shoulder comfortingly with her head hanging thoughtfully to the side. “Everyone gets a free meal every time they work.”

“I mean, yeah,” Peter mumbles with a short nod. “I guess I was a little too nervous to eat this morning.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darling,” she reassures and takes his hand to bring him into the kitchen. “Now, let’s get you fed.”

Peter looks back to wave goodbye to his Dad and is met with that bittersweet look most parents give their children when they drop them off for the first day of school.

“I’ll be here at four!” he tells him, worriedly staring at his son even when Peter nods and disappears behind the kitchen doors.

 

\- - 

 

After munching down a stack of pancakes and a piece of sausage, Peter is clocked in and refilling spray bottles of cleaning solution at Peggy’s request. The task takes about twenty minutes and afterward, she instructs him to wipe down the bar when traffic slows down. For the first hour or so, he stays on top of his work, cleaning and replenishing a table the millisecond a waitress collects her tip and discards of any mess around the diner that the other busser on duty might have missed. Peggy, pleased with his work ethic, leaves him to keep busy until another task arises.

By noon, he’s taken out the trash, swept behind the bar counter, filled and emptied the dishwasher, and is working on what feels like his millionth table. With the place being so busy, he hasn’t gotten the opportunity to formally meet the girls serving, but he watches them all closely and ducks his head if one of them so much as glances his way. In passing, he remembers two blonde white girls, one named Betty and the other named Gwen, and a short Korean girl named Cindy, all about his age.

They all seem nice enough if the way their customers smile and laugh around them is anything to go by. 

 

\- -

 

By two, traffic has slowed down and Betty clocks out for the day. Another girl comes in to take her place, and Peter doesn’t mean to stare when she does.

Her thin statuesque frame is model-like, but she walks as though she’s tired. Her brown eyes say boredom and her pouty lips exude annoyance. Her light brown hair is naturally spiraled and soft looking in its messy bun with tendrils flying around the girl’s unimpressed expression. Her nails are painted black, but they’re chipped. Instead of the checkered skirt and red turtleneck uniform, she has on a red long sleeve and black jeans.

His heart skips a beat.

If there’s one thing Peter knows he does way too often, it’s fall in deep love with every black person he comes across.

“Hello, darling. How’s my favorite waitress?” Peggy says cheerfully at the sight of the girl, but both Peter and her recognize the sarcasm. She mumbles something in response that Peter can’t make out and disappears into the kitchen.

Not long after Peter finishes hopefully the last table for a while, the girl is back on the serving floor with a waist apron tied around her middle and waiting tables.

Despite his efforts, Peter’s staring is anything but inconspicuous, and it makes Peggy chuckle to herself when he goes behind the bar to poorly pretend like he’s organizing utensils when his sights are set on watching this very bored waitress do her job. Cartoon hearts may as well be beating right in the middle of the dark expanse of his dilated pupils.

“You know what they say about taking a picture so it’ll last longer?” Peggy says nonchalantly when she stands beside him and redoes the utensils Peter carelessly put together.

At first, Peter doesn’t even act like he acknowledges Peggy’s presence, but after another moment of staring, he looks over at her with his eyebrows scrunched in the middle and a questioning curve forming on his lips.

Peggy nods to the waitress, then offers a small smile when his cheeks turn rosy.

“ _Oh_ ,” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Um, uh, yeah, that’s a little, uh—”

“It’s almost painful how much you’re like your Dad,” Peggy tells him fondly. “You have a girlfriend back home, darling?”

“No.”

Peggy nods. “Boyfriend?”

Peter shakes his head. “Uh, no.” _Still trying to figure that one out for myself…_

“Nobody special caught your eye at all?”

Liz’s sweet smile flashes in his mind for a brief moment but he blinks past it. “I’m more focused on school than anything, really, Aunt Peg.”

“I suppose so,” she says and nudges his elbow with hers. “I just want you to make friends while you’re here.”

Shuri is the first person that comes to mind. He should text her. “I will. It just takes a while, I guess, with being in a new place and all.”

“Well.” Peggy pats his shoulder. “You’ve all summer to figure it out.”

That doesn’t even seem like enough time. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She takes another half done utensil and napkin fold from his hand and pushes him towards the kitchen. “Take your half hour break, please.”

Peter orders a burger, fries, and a smoothie and eats his lunch at an empty, secluded booth. Instead of checking his social media, he finds himself reasearching bisexuality in men.

 _This is silly_ , he thinks. He’s making something out of nothing.

Yeah, he _likes_ boys.  
  
Does he like them enough to want to be with one?

Be with one in the sexual sense? Maybe. _Definitely maybe._

But a _relationship_?

Can Peter see himself as another boy’s boyfriend?

A butterfly flurries within Peter's center at the sound of that.

Even with the separation, his parents make it look cute enough to envy.

Peter is chewing on a fry and scrolling through his phone when the tall waitress approaches his table and openly stares down at him like he has the word _stupid_ written across his forehead.

At a loss for words, he straightens up to stare back and if she wasn’t so goofy-looking, he’s sure he’d get lost in her skeptical brown eyes.

She extends a long finger towards him. “You’re Peter. Peggy’s nephew.”

He blinks. “Yeah, I am. I think I’ve seen you before?” he mutters. He searches for a name tag on her person but she doesn’t have one. “Um, uh, I guess you know me through Peggy?”

“First of all, I don’t know you.”

“Oh. Well, what’s your name?”

She shrugs. “I don’t have one.”

 _What the hell?_ “You don’t have a name,” he repeats to make sure he’s understanding her correctly. “If you don’t have a name what do I call you?”

“You don’t have to call me.”

Peter blinks another time and shakes his head incredulously. “Don’t you think if we’re going to be working together that I should know something as simple as your name?”

“I just said I don’t have one,” she says again, crossing her arms across her chest and then nods to his empty plate. “Are you finished?”

He glances down at his plate. “Oh, um, yeah, but I can get that! I’m—”

“Zip it,” she orders, reaching to take his plate from in front of him and scurrying back to the kitchen.

Peter sits there for a minute to process whether or not that conversation actually happened. After deciding it didn’t, he tucks his phone back into his pocket, clocks back into the system, and carries out the remaining couple hours of his shift silently.

  

\- - 

 

With half an hour left, Peter has emptied and refilled the dishwasher a few more times and he now does his best to look busy in the midst of everyone else doing actual work.

The diner is quiet and slow save for a couple of locals on a late lunch break, and with the dinner rush upon them, mostly all the employees are occupying themselves productively. Peggy is in the kitchen taste testing the night’s specials, the servers are splitting tips, and the customers seem happy.

It has been a good day all around.

A slow-tempo eighties song plays on the jukebox and Peter has heard it a few times on his Pop’s playlist, so he hums along and mentally counts down the minutes until he can leave.

 

\- - 

  
At ten minutes til four, the night shift busser clocks in and after Peter finishes his last table, he stands behind the bar counter to impatiently watch the minutes tick by on his phone.

He’d love to clock out early, but he’s going to squeeze every penny he can out of this.

“Do _not_ touch me!” a sharp voice commands from across the restaurant, turning several heads and grabbing Peter’s attention in the process.

Peter, no longer distracted by his phone, observes Cute Nameless Waitress giving her table of one a lethal look of disdain, but the man seated—who looks way too old to be looking at a maybe sixteen year old girl _that way_ —is smirking to himself at the reaction he elicited, and if that doesn’t make him creepy enough, he’s sitting with his legs wide open with a subtle hand over his crotch.

 _Gross_.

“Don’t be like that!” he exclaims, reaching to take her hand but she pulls it towards her chest protectively. “You’d get a _big tip_ out of being nice to me, sweetie.”

Any attempt at customer service lost, she curls her lip in disgust at his advances and holds her limb to her chest.

“Go be nasty somewhere else,” she mumbles under her breath, turning to walk away from him and instantly going red in the face when the creep reaches out to pinch her on the behind.

He finds it hilarious and it shows in the way he laughs at her stunned and undoubtedly embarrassed expression.

Peter, however, does not.

“Hey, she said not to touch her!” Peter exclaims without thinking, rounding from behind the bar to approach the table. Both he and the waitress look over at him, both caught off guard that anyone intervened.

“Excuse me?” the man asks, eyeing Peter with a quick once over and chuckles.

“The lady said...” He clears his throat and stands beside Cute Nameless Waitress, arms crossed and chin jutted out. “ _Not_ to touch her.”

As though he can’t believe it, the man continues to smirk at the two teenagers and shakes his head. “Listen, kid, just mind your business, alright? This doesn’t concern you.”

“When you put your hands on my friends, it does,” Peter tells him. “You should apologize and maybe leave.”

“ _Leave_?” The word sounds comical coming out of his mouth. “And if I don’t, you little shit?”

“I’ll have to escort you out,” he explains politely, then adds on “sir” for good measure.

The man takes it as a challenge, so he rises from his seat and although Peter did not expect him to be as tall as he is, he stands his ground even if he has to look up a little.

“You’re escorting who out? Huh?!” he barks in Peter’s face, using his height to his advantage by looming over just enough to make Peter’s neck bend weirdly.

Peter has never been a confrontational person, but he is a little stubborn and doesn’t dare break eye contact even though he is hyper-aware that he’s about to get his ass all the way beat.

“Just let it go,” Cute Nameless Waitress says to Peter, touching his arm and tries pulling him away. “This guy’s not worth getting your teeth kicked in. Let’s go get Peggy.”

“Yeah, just walk away,” the man advises, chest to face with Peter but neither budge. “This ain’t a fight you’re gonna win.”

Peter swallows and calmly repeats, “You should apologize and leave.”

“And who’s gonna make me?”

Before he knows it, the collar of Peter’s shirt is fisted in the man’s huge hands jerking him upward and if he yelped in fear a little, no one but him and Cute Nameless Waitress had to know.

Bracing for a hit, Peter's face scrunches up but before any contact could be made, he’s free from the man’s grip and is flung backwards right into Cute Nameless Waitress’s arms.

Like a silent predator, Steve appears out of nowhere and now has the man’s collar in his fist with him laid out on the table with the silverware, plates, and a cup of water scattered and broken on the booth seats and tile floor. The three other customers in the diner as well as the waitresses stop at the sound of the crash and watch the scene unfold in utter shock.

“ _Dad_ ,” Peter gasps, but Steve doesn’t hear him because he’s too busy threatening the man on the table.

“You come near my son again, and God won’t even be able to help you! You hear me, Rumlow?!”

“Whoa, calm down, Rogers, I didn’t know he was _your_ kid—”

“Now you do!”

Even being married to Tony Stark for the last eighteen years didn’t bring out the wild look in his pure blue eyes, bared teeth, and thunderous bass in Steve’s already authoritative voice. Peter has certainly never seen this side of him, and it’s quite a scene to see.

“What in the name of— _Steve?!_ ” Peggy exclaims when she exits the kitchen to see what the ruckus is, Cute Nameless Waitress by her side now. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you throwing my customers around?”

“This isn’t a customer,” Steve growls. “This piece of shit put his hands on Peter, and if I have to kill him, I will.”

“Kid started it,” The man—Rumlow?—grumbles, squirming under Steve’s hold. Peggy scrunches her face up and glances between Rumlow, Steve and then Peter.

Peter rubs his elbow nervously. “H-h-he was harassing, um, uh—” he stutters and looks at Cute Nameless Waitress helplessly. Her head is down. “He just wasn’t being nice. I’m sorry, Aunt Peg, I didn’t mean to start any trouble.”

“See! Even he admits it!” Rumlow insists, but Steve doesn’t let up for anything. In fact, his grip intensifies and the fear is blatant in the way the man cowers.

“You, be quiet!” Peggy snaps at him then says, “Darling, let him up and get him out of here, please.”

Steve huffs and reluctantly loosens his hold on Rumlow but not without proving a point and jostling him to his feet. The other man doesn’t fight back, but that doesn’t stop Steve from aggressively pushing him towards the entrance.

“Come with me,” Peggy tells him, pulling him by his arm to the kitchen, but he resists and points to the mess on the floor.

“But I’ve gotta clean the—”

“No, just come with me, please,” she insists, dragging him along. The look that Cute Nameless Waitress shoots his way when they pass by is calculated, asking, _why the fuck would you do that?_

Peggy takes him to her office in the back and shuts the door behind her. “Are you alright?” she asks, rubbing his shoulders. “You look quite shaken.”

Peter stands there for a minute, unsure of what to do now that all his nerve is gone. “I, um, I’m sorry, Peggy. I didn’t want anyone to—”

“Sweetie, it’s okay. I’m asking if you’re alright.”

Peter thinks about Bucky asking him the same thing after the party. Does Peter have an aura that screams how perpetually uncomfortable he is?

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt or anything. I just, uh, yeah. I didn’t know my Dad was gonna do that.”

Peggy presses her lips together. “He tends to be a little out there sometimes,” she says. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Peter shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head instinctively. “That guy. He was being rude to, um,” he stammers, then pauses to think. “The really tall girl? Light skinned. Brown hair. She’s wearing pants.”

She blinks at him. “Her name is Michelle,” she tells him.

“Michelle,” Peter parrots. “Right. He was being rude to Michelle and wouldn’t stop, and I don’t know why I said anything, but he, uh, ya know, got mad and I guess my Dad saw and yeah.”

Peggy nods, taking all of this in. “You know most people wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yeah, well—I’m, I mean I don’t like bullies, ya know? Someone’s gotta look out for the little guy, but I’m serious, Peggy, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“It’s okay, Peter. Men like that get what they deserve, and I’m sure your Dad will be sure he does.”

Peter nods, looking to his shoes. “I’ve never seen him that mad.”

Peggy cups the side of his face. “He’s always been a very protective person when it comes to the ones he loves. And you especially being his only child.”

“I figured so,” Peter mutters shyly.

Peggy gives him another brief once over. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

“Okay.” She nods to the door. “Clock out and I’ll see you on your next shift.”

Peter ducks his head to avoid any curious staring from the staff as he walks back out to the dining area. Cute Nameless Waitress—Michelle—is nowhere to be seen, and the mess Steve left has already been cleaned up.

He’s fifteen minutes late clocking out.

 

\- -

 

The entire forty-five minute ride home is full of Steve cursing to himself in between making sure Peter is okay.

“Yes, Dad,” Peter huffs. “I’m fine. He didn’t even hit me.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve protests, both hands tight on the wheel, knuckles whitening with pressure. “God fucking damn that Rumlow. I knew something was wrong about him the second I met him.”

“How do you guys know each other?”

“He’s a local,” Steve sneers. “Works at the hardware store under Bucky. Bit of a womanizer—guys got, like, five kids by four different women and probably voted for Trump, if you ask me.”

“Don’t forget he likes to make sexual advances on teenage girls and make them uncomfortable,” Peter adds on.

Steve nods furiously. “Yeah, that too.”

When they arrive at the house, the garage is already open and Bucky is sitting on a crate, hunched over working on what appears to be a motorcycle. The Bluetooth speaker set on the workbench is blasting an out of place pop song that Peter wouldn’t expect Bucky to know all the words to, but clear as day, he’s singing along and doesn’t even stop when he sees them pull up in the huge, black pickup truck.

Steve parks, slamming the door when he hops out of the vehicle and then points to Bucky accusingly. The fire and anger burn red across his face and neck again. He’s less than interested in being friendly when he growls out, “We need to talk,” and barges into the house.

Bucky raises an unfazed eyebrow and his eyes follow Steve until he’s out of sight. “Nice to see you too, honey,” he enunciates each word with enough sarcasm to last the rest of his life.

Peter jumps out of the truck and isn’t at all surprised when Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge him and follows Steve into the house. Peter does the same and makes a great escape up the stairs because he could really use a nap. 

 

 - - 

 

The house is eerily quiet that night.

Steve planned to go grocery shopping, but most of his afternoon is spent talking with Bucky about what he assumes happened that afternoon with Rumlow. When Peter goes to the kitchen to get a snack, he hears the both of them on the phone with Peggy, but other than that, he hides in his room and waits for the takeout his Dad ordered to arrive.

The atmosphere at the dinner table is tense when the three of them sit down for dinner. Bucky is roughing down his food while Steve picks at bits and pieces of his shrimp fried rice. Peter glances between them both and figures they must’ve gotten into a disagreement. Ordinarily, this would be about the time they’re blissfully telling each other how their days went and making plans for the week.

Maybe this is about that Rumlow character?

Peter clears his throat and takes a sip of his water. “So,” he offers, swallowing his bite of food. “How was everyone’s day?”

Steve shakes his head. “I _was_ having a great day.”

Bucky scoffs. “Makes two of us.”

That triggers a sarcastic huff out of Steve to which he follows in a passive-aggressive tone, “How ‘bout you, Peter? Aside from the fact that some forty-something-year-old fucking loser tried to kill you at work, how was your first day?” He doesn’t even break contact with his full plate of food.

“Okay, he didn’t try to kill the kid,” Bucky interjects before Peter can answer. “Peggy described it just as Peter did, and you’re being dramatic as always.”

“Why the fuck are you taking his side?” Steve asks, dropping his fork with a clatter sound to the plate, utterly baffled at what he’s hearing.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Bucky insists calmly, putting up a palm in defense. “I’m being realistic, and the reality is that he wasn’t trying to actually kill the kid.”

“Oh, you were there?” Steve seethes, but Bucky shakes his head with an exasperated eye roll.

“No, but I’m using common sense. As big a dick as Brock is, he wouldn’t have hit the kid! He just wanted to rough him up and scare him for calling him out.”

“That’s fine and whatnot, but it’s not _your_ child he was trying to rough up and scare, so I think you should just see _my_ side of things and deal with him accordingly!”

“How many times am I going to have to tell your stubborn ass that I can’t fire this motherfucker for something that didn’t happen at work? My business can be put on the line for unlawful termination, Steve!”

Peter’s eyes flash between the two like he’s watching a tennis match. This is the kind of trouble he wanted to avoid; he just wanted to do the right thing.

As he listens to them go back and forth, Peter agrees that Steve is asking a lot of Bucky to fire Rumlow, but he sees why Steve is being so unreasonable and stubborn about his point. Peter isn’t sure what he would do in Steve’s place if he saw his own son in the vulnerable position Peter was in.

Watching them go at it is a lot less scary than the aggressive passion behind a fight between Tony and Steve.

“—I just don’t see why you can’t suspend him for like ten days without pay or something!” Steve says, desperate for a solution and growing further frustrated when Bucky offers one he doesn’t like.

“Steve, honey,” Bucky exhales patiently. “I know you’re upset, but just please think rationally—”

Peter clears his throat again. “May I be excused?”

Neither men are paying attention to him and they’ve resulted in talking over one another. Peter sighs, trying to follow the jumble of words but it’s become a blur of flapping lips and unheard opinions.

“Can I leave the table?” he asks again with more bass, but they still don’t hear him even if they haven’t raised their voices.

After another minute of listening to them babble over each other, Peter lifts himself from his seat in the middle of them, puts his plate in the sink, and goes to his room.

 

  - -

  
“He had you by the collar?!” Ned exclaims, eyes widening with excitement. “What did you do?”

“Dude, I flinched,” Peter confesses with a nervous chuckle and grins at his friend through the phone screen. “I thought he was gonna really hit me.”

“Then what happened?”

“This is the crazy part: My Dad comes rushing in outta nowhere and just tackles the guy! He’s got him pinned to the table, screaming and threatening some real shit like he works for The Godfather or something, and oh my god, Ned, you should’a seen this guy’s face!” Peter recalls the fear in his eyes. “I’ve _never_ seen my Dad like that, but I gotta say, it was pretty badass.”

“Your Dad did that?” Ned’s grinning too now. “Holy shit, Peter, then what?”

“I’m almost a hundred percent sure he would’ve went to jail if Aunt Peggy hadn’t talked to him.” Peter shakes his head in wonder. “It was really something, Ned. Oh, and get this! The guy works with my Dad’s boyfriend in his hardware shop!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m deadass! Small world, right?”

Ned nods. “Talk about coincidence, huh? Do you know what’s gonna happen to the guy now?”

“Oh, that’s a whole other can of worms I don’t feel like opening,” Peter says with finality, reluctantly aware that Bucky and Steve are probably still at the table discussing it. “Anyway, man, how’s your summer been going to far?”

“Good so far. Mom and I started doing Zumba together, so that’s pretty cool.”

Peter nods. “Sounds fun! When do you leave for space camp?”

“Not until the end of July.”

“Think you could cut a week out of the month to come up here?”

Ned sits up in his seat. “Wait,” he says. “Up there? To Ithaca?”

“Yeah! I mean, it’s kinda fun up here, and we’re having a Fourth of July barbecue slash birthday thing for my Dad and I, and as cool as my Dad’s friends are, I need a piece of home here at least for my birthday, ya know?”

“Of course, I wanna be there! I just gotta ask my parents.”

“Really? That’s amazing! You can bunk with me! We can go swimming, sailing, and hiking and stuff. Then you can meet Aunt Peggy—she’s just like May, but there’s something about her that tells me she could body slam a full grown man and maybe knock them out with a stapler.”

“You don’t think May could do that?”

“Nah, May’s thing is staring someone down until they’re reduced to a puddle of tears. She has that effect on people,” Peter tells him. “Oh, and you’ll meet Shuri, who is the coolest person ever, by the way.”

“What about your Dad’s boyfriend?”

Peter thinks about that. They will be in the same house, so yeah, he’d have to meet Bucky too.

“I mean, yeah. I apologize in advance if he’s mean to you since you’re annoying by association.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t find you annoying. From what you told me, he avoids you like the plague.”

“Because I annoy him,” Peter adds on self-deprecatingly. “Can’t say I blame him, really.”

On Ned’s end, his mom calls him for dinner.

“Alright, comin’!” Ned yells down the hallway then turns back to the screen. “I’ll call you later, Peter!”

“Okay. Don’t forget to ask about coming up here.”

“Alright, I won’t!”

After the call disconnects, Peter hooks his phone up to the charger, takes his shirt off, and changes out of his work slacks into a pair of sweatpants. He stretches out his tight muscles from lifting and bending all day with a whine and a noise of affirmation.

He brushes his teeth then plops on the mattress, phone in hand, watching YouTube and Netflix in between texting Ned. A few episodes of _Breaking Bad_ later, a text notification appears at the top of the screen, and hearts swirl in Peter’s eyes at Shuri’s name popping up.

 _What are you doing tomorrow?_ **\- 9:34PM**

 _I get off work at 3,_ he types back.

She answers immediately.

 _Okay cool! A bunch of us are having a picnic at Stewart Park tomorrow afternoon. You wanna come?_ **\- 9:36PM**

Stewart Park isn’t that far from the lake house anyway, so there’s no reason why he wouldn't make it. 

“A bunch of us,” he repeats, rereading over the text.

If “a bunch of us” means Shuri’s unfairly cooler and attractive friends that were at the kickback, then he damn well knows he’s going.

_I’ll definitely be there! Anything I should bring? My Dad makes really good potato salad._

_Queens, I like you but you’re not allowed to bring potato salad. We could use utensils and plates tho :)_ **- 9:38PM**

Peter figures that’s fair and makes a mental note to stop by a convenient store after work.

_Sounds good. Can’t wait!_

What if “a bunch of us” includes Peter’s mystery lover?

If he can even be called that.

Making out for two minutes and orgasming in his new jeans with a total stranger is anything but glamorous.

It was messy, but it felt _so damn good._

Laying on his back, Peter stares blankly at the ceiling, drifting off and recalling that night in vivid technicolor. His heart was racing so fast by just being there, and remembering it all has his entire insides ready to burst.

But in a good way.

A small fond smile finds its way onto his lips. He touches them faintly, detecting the faint pressure of the other boy’s soda-flavored mouth on his. Even if he never sees him again, the ghost feeling of his large hands roaming over Peter’s body is enough to sustain that memory forever.

Peter exhales and when he shuts his eyes, those heated minutes he spent out of that night with the boy flood back all at once.

Just imagining being in that position again has his body reacting the same way it did that night. His torso tenses, his face flushed, and his hands absently roam along his chest and towards his abdomen.

His own touch sends a chill not just down his spine, but his arms, middle, legs, and toes. Maybe he’s more touch starved and sexually repressed than he thinks.

Below his waist, a tent has risen in his sweatpants, so he lifts the band of his sweatpants to peek down at himself. Halfway erect, his penis twitches at the exposure and he shudders.

Peter grabs his phone and searches the first pornsite that comes to mind. It’s an aesthetically unpleasant and incohesive website, but Peter can’t bring himself to care as he scrolls through the vast selection of videos.

With each thumbnail preview he sees of these actors in such raunchy positions, his erection grows fuller and harder, almost unbearably so. He’s watched porn just enough to know he likes it in healthy amounts, but today felt different. He wanted to get off, but something felt out of place searching through heterosexual videos.

Yeah, he likes girls a lot, but right now, he feels a little… _experimental_.

Peter sits up and takes a moment to think.

He’s horny in the fullest sense of the word, but for once, he doesn’t crave the touch of a woman. He doesn’t want to take the assumed lead with a girl nor does he want to think about maybe— _just maybe_ —penetrating a girl.

Right now, anyway.

He maybe wants to try being with a boy in the same way he was with the one at Shuri’s kickback.

Does he want to suck a dick? _Maybe_.

That doesn’t seem like something he would want to do only once. Then again and again and again…

Peter looks down at his phone and types in “gay” into the website’s search engine. Nearly a million results pop up, and beads of sweat form on his forehead.

Just then there’s a brisk knock on the door, making Peter jump and drop his phone.

“Yeah?” he calls, rolling out of bed to quickly snatch a baggy t-shirt long enough to cover his crotch from the dresser drawer.

“Peter, it’s Dad,” Steve says softly. “Just wanted to check on you before you went to bed. Can you open up?”

Of all fucking times?! “Yeah, Dad, just gimme a sex— _SEC_! Give me a second. A moment.”

Peter uses the collar of the shirt to wipe his forehead and then adjusts it accordingly. He smooths his hair from his face with one swoop and opens the door just enough so a sliver of Steve can be seen.

“What’s up, Dad? Need something?”

Steve shakes his head and narrows his eyes at his son. “No, just wanted to make sure you were okay about everything that happened today.”

“Oh, that? Um, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” he exhales in one heady breath.

“Yeah, I guess I overreacted a little there, huh?” Steve laughs at himself and Peter puts on the most convincing smile he can. “Even if there isn’t anything Bucky can do about Rumlow, I do wanna say that I am proud of you for sticking up for yourself and that young lady.”

Peter nods. “I really just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I understand, son,” Steve agrees. “I only reacted that way because, well—” His face twists up, contemplating for a brief second before confidently saying, “You’re my kid, okay? I’m allowed to go a little haywire if I see some guy I kinda already hate with his hands on you. Am I not?”

“You are,” Peter agrees, nodding some more then gulping down the lump in his throat. “I’ve just never seen you so angry. Like, not even at Pop.”

Steve considers this with an quick shake of the head and a glance to his feet. “It wasn’t a good look. And I apologize if it was upsetting.”

Peter shakes his head too now, fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of the door. “It’s fine.”

Steve lifts his head to look at his son and then gives him a happy grin. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you be, buddy. I might be up a little while working in the basement, so if you need anything, I’ll be down there.”

“Okay,” Peter says, fighting not to slam the door right in his Dad’s face. “G’night, Dad.”

“‘Night, Pete.”

Peter barely waits for Steve to take a step away from the door to close it and lock it. Glancing down, he sees he’s only half hard now and that’s enough encouragement to pick up where he left off.

Removing his shirt, sweats and underwear this time, he climbs under the covers with his earphones inserted into the jack and searches for a video with a title ridiculous enough to entice him to watch.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, HalcyonSeasons did her fucking thing and if I could, I’d pay her for making this story so good. I am literally empty without her.

Even though he remembers a small percentage of what Steve said last night since his libido was through the roof, Peter keeps him in mind the following morning as he enters work with an attitude of optimism and clarity.

His Dad is proud of him. _He’s proud of him!_

Will Steve tell Tony what happened? Is he supposed to? If so, what will be his reaction? Would he even care? Would he be proud, too? Peter hopes so.

“Good morning, darling,” Peggy says, coming up behind him to rub his shoulder as he clocks in. “Feeling better today?”

“Uh, yeah, Aunt Peggy, I am,” he stammers. “It’s a new day with new customers. Today will be good.”

“That’s the optimism we love,” she encourages. “Do you mind just sweeping and mopping the kitchen for now?”

“Yeah, I’m right on it.”

Peter does as he’s told quietly, keeping his head down and only speaking when spoken to. The diner is bustling and loud, but he still keeps to himself and smiles politely at whoever he makes eye contact with.

By one o’clock, Peter is coming back from his break at the same time one of the blonde white girls he remembers from yesterday, Gwen, is coming in for her shift. Peggy delegates the staff accordingly when traffic peaks, and after wiping what feels like the millionth table, Peter puts away his apron and clocks out of the system for the day.

Just as he is heading toward the door, Gwen approaches him from the side with a soft hand to his arm and a coy smile on her pink lips. Taken aback, his eyebrows fly upward and he makes a surprised sound.

“Hey,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her hair. “Peter, right?”

He nods. “Um, yeah. Peter.”

“I’m Gwen!” she introduces herself, removing her hand from his arms. “I meant to get acquainted with you yesterday, but there was that whole, uh, thing.”

Peter’s cheeks redden. “Yeah, the thing.”

“Well, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, our whole group is going roller skating and getting something to eat afterwards. Would you wanna come?”

Peter smiles at her. “Who’s in this group?”

“Just the girls who work here. Betty, me, Cindy, Michelle, Sally—”

“Michelle,” Peter interrupts out of nowhere then covers it up by adding, “I mean, oh, um, yeah. Just us?”

“Yeah!” She giggles shyly, touching his arm again. “It’s usually really chill or whatever, and we don’t wanna make you feel weird being the only boy. You can bring any of your other friends if you want.”

 _Other friends,_ he thinks. “Yeah, sounds fun. I’ll go.”

Gwen flashes him a megawatt smile. “Okay, cool! Sounds great. We’ll see you then!”

She scurries off to go wait tables before Peter can say anything else. Delighted anyway, he exits the restaurant where Steve is already waiting in Bucky’s truck in the parking lot.

“How was work?” he asks, shifting the gears into drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

“It was fine,” Peter says. “No grown men tried to beat me up so I count it as a good day.”

Steve chuckles and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I do too.”

“Oh, um, can we stop by the store? I need to get plates and stuff for Shuri’s picnic.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The nearest convenient store is on the way back to the house, so Peter runs in to buy plates, plastic cutlery, and napkins. They are home by four-thirty when Peter texts Shuri that he’ll be at the park soon. Changing out of his slacks and white v-neck into a pair of dark wash jeans and an olive green sweatshirt only takes fifteen minutes, and before he knows it, he and Steve are back in the truck on their way to Stewart Park.

“Who is gonna be there?” Steve asks.

“Shuri and her friends, mostly.” _And maybe the boy who gave me my first kiss and made me ruin a new pair of jeans._

“Hmm,” he hums, making a turn into the parking lot. “Park closes at nine. You guys gonna be out here that late?”

Peter shrugs. “Um, I don’t think so.”

Steve stops the truck in an unoccupied space and puts the gears into park. “You got your phone?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“What percent are you on?”

Peter whips out his phone to check and sees Shuri sent him a text telling him where they are as though the loud music playing in the far distance couldn’t guide him.

“I’m on seventy, and I’ll charge up if it gets too low,” he reassures him, gripping the door handle impatiently. “Everything is fine, Dad. I’ll call you if I need you.”

Steve notes his son’s urgency and just nods. There was a time when Peter was younger and couldn’t bear to be away from Steve or Tony.

_How time flies…_

“Okay, buddy. Have a good time!” Steve unlocks the door and Peter wastes no time hopping out the truck and making his way to the pavilion where Shuri and her friends are. As always, Steve watches until his son is out of sight before putting the gears in reverse, backing out of the spot, and zooming back home.

 

\- - 

 

  
“Peter from Queens!” Shuri exclaims at the sight of him, smirking him down. He can’t help blushing.

“I bought the, uh, plates and stuff,” he says, lifting the shopping bag of plates, napkins and cutlery. “I’m not too late, am I?”

“Unless you like macaroni and cheese, yeah,” she teases. She takes his unoccupied hand in hers to lead him to a crowded pavilion of at least forty people eating, talking, or dancing to the hip-hop music through a powerful Bluetooth speaker. The waft of barbecue hits his nose in full force, and he can’t complain about that.

“When you said picnic,” Peter starts, surveying the large group, “I imagined something a little more—” He pauses to find the word.

“Low key,” Shuri supplies.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that this is low key for black people?”

“Um—?” He thinks for a second, but shuts his mouth when he realizes the question is rhetorical.

He sets the shopping bag on a table beside a spread of food and to his surprise, some of Shuri’s friends greet him without having to be introduced again. For a brief moment, it feels like they’re actually happy to see him. Even if they do just know him as Shuri’s white friend, it’s truly an honor to be known as such.

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” Shuri asks when they approach the spread, plate in hand.

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“You like spicy food?”

Peter shrugs with a smirk. “I have a feeling you’re asking ‘cus I’m white.”

“Thought you were twenty percent Puerto Rican, Queens,” she mutters, nudging his elbow with hers. “Take some of everything and come sit with me.”

Everything on the table looks appetizing; he takes a little of everything like Shuri instructed. With his plate piled high with baked chicken, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, white rice, and pasta salad, he makes himself comfortable at Shuri’s table on the bench right next to her. As expected, the food is great, and it distracts him enough not to really listen to the conversation the rest of the table is having.

 

Peter has had two plates of food and is just about to pass out when the sun begins to set, and the music transitions from upbeat and energetic to slow and sensual. He’s having fun so far, and he likes watching everyone else slow dance with one another while he nibbles on a straw from his juice box.

Peter isn’t the only one not dancing, but he’s certainly not bold enough to ask someone to. Despite the warm hospitality, delicious food, and beautiful setting, Peter is a little bummed about not seeing his dream boy here.

Maybe it wasn’t meant for Peter to see him again.

“Come dance with me, Queens,” Shuri invites, coming up behind him to tap his shoulder. “You looks like a sad rhino.”

“Is that an actual saying?” he asks, rising from the bench and letting himself be led to the grassy area outside the pavilion. The fireflies are blinking like stars before their eyes and the music is loud enough to keep them in rhythm but low enough so they can hear each other.

“In Wakanda, it is,” she answers and puts her arms around Peter’s neck. “You having fun?”

Without a clue to do, his hands shake as they place themselves on her waist. “Um, yeah, we don’t really do stuff like this back home.”

“They don’t have picnics in Queens?”

He thinks, then backtracks. “Well, I’m not really invited to stuff like this, I should say.”

They’ve begun swaying in a circle, and it feels natural to them both even if he’s never slow danced with anyone before. Peter is sure his cheeks are on fire and burning bright.

“Do you not have friends back home?” she wonders, giving him an unbelieving sideways glance.

Peter shakes his head. “I have _a_ friend. My best friend, actually. Ned,” he tells her fondly. “We don’t get invited to parties.”

“You seem like a nice person, why not?”

“I mean, we don’t really put ourselves out there enough to get invited anywhere. We’re more of the stay-home-and-watch-anime-on-a-Friday-night kind of guys.”

“Nerds,” Shuri blurts out. She laughs when Peter’s face glows an even brighter red. “It’s okay, Queens. Nothing wrong with being a little nerdy sometimes.”

“Yeah, except I’m a lot nerdy all the time.”

“It works for some people,” she reassures him. “If it means anything, I’m a bit of a nerd myself.”

“You are literally one of the coolest people I know.”

“I quote Vines in everyday conversation. Trust when I say I’m not cool at all.”

“I said, _whoever threw that paper,_ ” Peter begins.

Shuri looks at him dubiously, and for a millisecond he feels stupid, but then she plays along.

“ _Your mom’s a hoe_!” they exclaim in unison.

She breaks out in loud laughter and puts her hands back around his neck. He eases closer and laughs along with her.

They sway for a while, just talking and getting to know one another until the sun is completely set with just the stars, fireflies, and the lights from the pavilion keeping the space illuminated. Peter decides he really likes Shuri and enjoys her time as a friend given she is as intelligent as they come and even funnier. He can only hope she’s enjoying his company too.

As guests begin to leave, Shuri says goodbye and thanks them for coming. It’s about eight o’ clock when everyone has cleared out and helped cleaned up their area, but Peter doesn’t want to leave when the night is still so early.

“Is your Dad coming to get you?” Shuri asks when the last of her friends leave.

Peter sits atop one of the picnic tables and nods to her. “Yeah, he should be here soon.”

She nods and joins him. “I’ll wait with you.”

To pass time, they watch Vine compilations on Shuri’s phone and play a game or two of Heads Up charades. In the middle of their game, Shuri shivers at the slight breeze drafting through the air. She’s only got on a sleeveless dress with high top sneakers, and Peter can see the goosebumps forming along the expanse of her arms.

“Oh, hey, take this,” Peter says, taking off his sweatshirt and offering it to her.

“You’re sure?” She hesitates taking it.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to freeze out here,” he insists and she takes the clothing from him to put on herself. It fits her frame perfectly, and even though her legs are still exposed, she’s warm where it counts.

“Thanks, Queens.” Shuri scoots so much closer to him that they’re thighs are brushing together.

Bucky’s black pickup arrives in the parking lot, headlights flashing, about fifteen minutes later just as they’re finishing another game.

Peter and Shuri hop off the bench and she has her arms around his middle in a friendly embraces before he can tell her goodbye. She’s significantly shorter than him and only comes up to Peter’s chin, so his arms fit perfectly around her shoulders.

“Thanks for coming today,” she says into his chest and squeezes one good time before letting him go. Her dazzling smile will be implanted in his memory forever.

“Thanks for inviting me. I had a lot of fun.”

Shuri pats his shoulder once and starts off in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you!”

Peter waves and then a second later calls out “Wait!”

Shuri turns expectantly. “Miss me already?”

“Is someone getting you? My Dad could take you home.”

Shuri shakes her head and jingles a set of keys in the air. “I drove myself. Thank you anyway.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later!”

The walk to the truck is short, but the abrupt breeze against Peter’s bare arms reminds him that he forgot to take back his sweatshirt. He doesn’t mind Shuri having it; it looks good on her anyway.

However, Steve’s expression remains speculative as he watches Shuri disappear with the garment on her back and Peter get into the front seat without it.

His son’s cheeks are red from what he supposes is more than just the cold air.

“You have fun?” Steve inquires, and Peter nods and puts on his seatbelt.

“Um, yeah, it was cool.”

Steve puts the car in reverse to back out the parking spot. “It’s good you’re making some new friends,” he mentions proudly, driving down the dirt road to the lake house.

“Uh, yeah it is,” he mutters. “Oh, by the way, is it okay that Ned is coming up for Fourth of July?”

“Absolutely,” Steve agrees. “Just remind me to buy sheets for the other guest room.”

“You don’t have to. He’ll share my room.”

Steve gives him a sideways glance and smiles to himself. “Just like when you guys were kids and had those cute little sleepovers.”

The tone in Steve’s voice is weighing on nostalgic, so Peter indulges in the walk down memory lane.

“Yeah, and we used to make forts out of the sofa cushions and blankets,” Peter recalls fondly. “Gosh, I remember all those times we fell asleep on the old rug and wake up with rashes on our faces every time.”

“Bet’cha don’t remember that one time you guys fell asleep watching movies on HBO and when Pop and I came to check on you all in the middle of the night, skin flicks were blasting on the TV.”

That particular incident was when Ned and Peter were about seven or eight, and to this day, his cheeks still go red and hot since the truth of the matter is that Ned and Peter were pretending to be asleep when Peter’s parents came to check on them. They were definitely watching soft porn movies voluntarily, and when they couldn’t find the remote to change the channel when they heard Peter’s parents’ was a footsteps, they feigned sleep and prayed to God that they bought it.

A part of Peter thinks they got away with it while another sincerely believes they know and are saving their son the embarrassment by not saying so. After all, parents do know everything.

“Nope, don’t remember that at all,” Peter lies, shoulders tense and eyes zeroed in on the road ahead to avoid his Dad’s knowing smirk.

“I’ll bet you don’t,” he mutters. “It’s always great to see that you guys are still best friends to this day. You know they say that when you’ve been friends with someone for seven years or more that you’ll be friends for life. How many years has it been? God, at least ten, right? _Wow_.”

“I thought that was with, like, romantic relationships,” Peter wonders, flicking one of his eyebrow upward inquisitively.

Steve hums to himself, stopping at the red light. “Actually, that’s what they call the seven year itch.”

“The old Marilyn Monroe movie?”

“Yes, but it comes from the term used for when marriages hit their seven year mark and a little bit of the spark in the relationship fizzles out.” The light flashes green and Steve presses on the gas. “I don’t know where they got seven years from, but I guess that’s where most marriages need the pick-me-up.”

“Is that what happened with you and Pop when you hit the seven year mark?”

“I don’t really remember, buddy,” he tells him with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s tough remembering stuff from eleven years ago.”

It dawns on Peter in that moment that his parents have really been married for _eighteen damn years_. Eighteen long years, and he is what they have to show for it.

He shakes his head in wonder. “You remember your wedding day, don’t you?”

Steve snickers at that. “We went to the courthouse on New Year’s Eve in Vermont since they’d just made it legal for same sex couples to do so. Then we had a vow renewal ceremony a year later which I considered a wedding,” he recalls, looking off distantly as though to watch flashbacks. “During that time, May and Tony came to their terms with a surrogacy situation, and a year later, we already had you.”

“Oh, c’mon, what are the details, Dad?” Peter shoves Steve’s shoulder. “Who was your best man? What did you guys dance to?”

“Sam was my best man, obviously—he would’ve killed me if I chose somebody else.” Steve chuckles and switches his high beams on. “And as for our first dance? This might sound prehistoric to you, but it was little tune called ‘Because You Loved Me’ by Céline Dion.”

Peter can’t say he knows that song, but he’s curious anyway. “How did you guys pick that song?”

“Well, at the time Pop and I began dating, which I guess was about ‘97, Céline Dion was insanely popular, and we just decided that was our favorite song of hers,” he explains. “Damn, I had to have been about nineteen. Time really does fly, huh?”

“It sure does,” Peter mumbles, slouching in his seat now. “All of your friends I’m sure you’ve known for more than seven years.”

“Just about. I’ve know Peggy since before I knew my own name, so I’m never getting rid of her. I met Sam, Bucky, Natasha, and nearly everyone else back home when I was a preteen or a little older.”

“What about Pop?”

Steve snorts, turning the headlights down as they approach the house. “Weirdly enough, I met your Pop at eighteen when he was doing alumni seminars on campus. One quick meet and greet later, and little old Steven Rogers from Brooklyn has the attention of Tony Stark, billionaire CEO of Stark Industries. The rest is history.”

“Sounds like a love story right out of a fantasy novel,” Peter decides.

Steve parks the truck right outside of the garage. “Yeah, an eighteen year long love story. I feel old as hell.”

“You’re gonna feel even older when I remind you that you’re turning thirty-nine the same week I’m turning seventeen.”

“You love to see your old man suffer, don’t you, kid?” Steve shouts out ridiculously upon killing the engine, locking the truck and heading to the front door. “I’m thirty-nine, going through a divorce, and my son is roasting me. Is this what my life has come to?”

“Could be worse,” Peter adds on, shutting and locking the front door behind him when they walk in. “I could be an alcoholic or have a few illegitimate babies to women I barely know.”

“Then you’d really be your father’s child,” Steve utters under his breath low enough for Peter to think he misheard him. He doesn’t press the matter when they enter the living room to see Bucky fast asleep and laid out on the long sofa.

The soft jazz playing on the surround sound system is barely loud enough to mask the deep growls emitting from Bucky’s rising and falling chest. If Peter didn’t know him, he’d think the man was completely harmless; how is it that he looks more approachable in his sleep?

“Bucky,” Steve purrs, rounding the back of the sofa to squat in front of Bucky’s face and tuck a loose lock of hair behind his ear where the faint glint of jewelry attached catches Peter’s eye.

Bucky’s ears are… _pierced?_

Bucky’s eyes open gradually to the sound of Steve’s voice. “Hey, beautiful.” His voice is guttural and tired sounding but fond all the same in the face of Steve. “Where’s the kid?”

Steve takes one quick look over at Peter watching them and he didn’t realize he was until Steve did so. He snaps out of it and makes a mad dash up the stairs to avoid hearing the rest of the conversation.

Something about Bucky triggers Peter’s fight-or-flight mode.

Could it be the tattoos, piercings, and other characteristics that make up his rough exterior that scare Peter to the core of his soul? Or maybe it’s because he and Tony are such polar opposites and he’s used to passive and less physically imposing Pop?

From an outsider’s perspective, it’s fascinating how Steve got with both of them despite the vast differences between the two; maybe Steve didn’t have a type the way Peter thought he did.

He just always thought his Dad’s type is just Pop.

When Peter gets to his room, he strips down to just his boxers and has a moment with himself. Does he have a type?

If he has to categorize his type based on everyone he’s ever had a crush on or felt an attraction to, he’d say he likes people taller than him—Shuri excluded. Maybe it’s because he likes feeling safe and cared for by whoever he’s looking up at.

Brown eyes are nice, too… _they’re always warm and friendly._

Peter sighs wistfully.

His ideal person would be tall with the kind of brown eyes that capture the light of the sun and turn into a tiny spec of the center of the earth at the slightest angles.

He should really talk to someone about this; this and the whole bisexual awakening thing. It’s a weird thing to call it, but that’s what it is, he figures.  
  
It’s ten o’clock when Peter checks his phone, and he’s pretty tired from the day, so after brushing his teeth and having a quick phone call with Ned, he gets under the covers and falls asleep.

 

\- -

 

It’s humid out, which is expected on the brink of July.

Peter doesn’t have work today, but he’s up and awake just as the sun rises while Bucky is leaving. After using the bathroom, Peter watches the black truck reverse out and zoom down the dirt road.

Steve will be up in a few minutes, too, if he’s not already. He’d mentioned something in passing about going to the store today to get decorations and food for the Fourth of July/birthday barbecue in a few days.

So this leaves Peter home alone for a few hours.

Peter pulls on his swim trunks, grabs a towel, and puts his sunglasses on. The house is quiet but pleasant as he goes downstairs and makes himself a bowl of cereal before heading out to the lake.

He really would starve if Steve didn’t like to cook so much. Maybe he should look up some cooking tutorials today.

The lake water is cold at first but as he swims about and floats, his body grows accustomed to it. He only stays in the water for half an hour before laying out on the dock. The sun is finally blaring. If Steve were to come out, he’d pester the teenager about whether he has sunscreen on or not. He doesn’t.

Just then, Peter’s cell phone vibrates and chirps a handful of times beside his face, signaling texts from an unknown number starting with the Ithaca area code.

_Hey Peter!!!!!!!!! This is Gwen._

_Gwen from work. I got your number from the system_

_Just double checking if you’re still coming with us tonight_

_Also, do u need a ride cus I can come get you if you do_

Pleasantly surprised, Peter responds, _Yeah I’m def still in and a ride would be nice. Thx!_

_Just send me your address_

_:)_

Gwen seems like a nice girl, and he hopes her friends are just as cool. Peter hasn’t seen Michelle since the incident with Rumlow, but maybe she won’t be as reserved when he sees her tonight.

Steve is dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee when Peter enters back into the house a quarter past eight.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets his son as Peter strolls into the kitchen. His cheerful smile quickly turns to a suspicious glare when he takes in the reddening state of Peter’s skin, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “You’re up quite early.”

“Yeah, my biological alarm is pretty off.”

“I could see how that could be so,” Steve agrees and sips his coffee. “What’re you up to today?”

“I’m going out with some of the girls from work.” That whole sentence feels weird coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind it.

“That’s good.” Steve brings the mug to his mouth and then pauses. “The girls,” he repeats. “As in you’re the only guy.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Hmph,” Steve huffs. “That sounds fun. You’re okay with being the only boy going, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The look on Steve’s face is unreadable, but Peter doesn’t notice as he goes in the fridge for a water and a snack.

“Not that you wouldn’t be fine with it,” Steve clarifies, looking down thoughtfully at his coffee. “It’s just I wanna make sure you’re comfortable.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, peeling his orange swiftly. “Why would I be uncomfortable, Dad?”

Clearly unprepared to answer, Steve sways his balance from foot to foot and awkwardly looks above him as though to search for the answers on the ceiling. “Um, ya know, not necessarily uncomfortable being with a group of girls, but with the implications that come with it. You follow me?”

Peter shakes his head, not following at all. “Is there something wrong with—“

“Wrong?” Steve exclaims, eyes flying open and free hand up to wave dismissively. “Oh, no, Peter, no. Nothing’s wrong with it, I promise. It’s just that growing up, where I’m from, it meant something when you were the only guy in a group of girls.”

 _What is he getting at?_ “I don’t get it.”

It sometimes downright exasperates Steve with how oblivious Peter is to anything outside of the suburbia he’s used to, but he can really only blame himself. Peter is intelligent as hell, but he can be clueless when it matters.

“God, buddy, okay,” Steve exhales. “Typically when there’s a guy who hangs around mostly girls, people assume that that guy is gay.”

Peter’s other eyebrow flies up now.

“Now, obviously there’s nothing wrong with that,” Steve goes on. “It’s just that I want you to be okay with those assumptions should they arise.”

 _Assumptions_.

Does Steve know?

How could Steve know if Peter doesn’t even know for himself?

Peter nods. “Um, I will be okay. It wouldn’t, like, bother me if someone thought I was gay.” Even if he isn’t sure, he knows that to be true. “I mean, I’m not, but you know I wouldn’t care, Dad.”

“Well, I’ve raised you right, then.” Steve takes a long gulp from his steaming mug and winces. “So, you’re _not_ gay.”

“Uh, I don’t think I am.” _He’s technically bisexual, so it’s not a completely dishonest response._

“You know if you ever wanted to talk about that kinda thing, you can come to me. I mean, at least you know I won’t throw you out on your ass,” Steve chuckles at himself. “It’s good you’re an ally, though.”

“Of course, Dad,” he agrees, picking apart the orange and barely chewing before he swallows a slice.

The creak of the the front door followed by a couple of swift knock echoes throughout the first level, and a booming voice shouts out “ _Daddy’s home_!” Steve rolls his eyes and attempt to hide an amused smirk.

“We’re in here, Sam!” Steve calls out, setting his mug down on the counter.

Sam enters the dining room area, smiling on sight of his best friend and godson. “Mornin’!” he chirps, Starbucks cup in one hand and keys in the other.

“When I gave you a key, I specifically remember saying it was for emergencies only,” Steve reminds him in mock annoyance, arms crossed as he leans against the counter.

“Well, I just wanted the neighbors to know that you have black friends in case anyone was suspicious about the American flag flying on your patio.”

“We don’t have neighbors,” Steve mutters, cocking his head to this side.

Peter snickers and eats another slice of the orange. “Hey, Sam!” he greets happily, juices overflowing from his mouth that he wipes away with the back of his hand.

“My favorite Stark!” He claps Peter on the back.

It’s Steve’s turn to snicker now, but he passes it off as a cough. “Sam, you ready to go or—?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Sam looks to Peter. “You coming with us?”

“No, I’m just gonna stay here.”

“Being in a big, empty house all by yourself sounds kinda lame, kid.”

Peter shrugs. “I’ll make do.”

“He always does,” Steve adds, finishing off his coffee and puts the mug in the sink. “Alright, let’s stop at Target first,” he says to Sam then points to Peter. “You’re gonna be alright by yourself?”

“Dad, I’m almost seventeen,” the teenager insists and leaves the kitchen with a subtle grimace. He’s sure Steve is rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t turn around to check; why’s he gotta treat him like such a child?

Peter goes up to his room and watches the two men exit the house and drive off down the dirt road until they’re out of sight.

Now he’s alone.

In the time he is home by himself, Peter showers the lake off, shaves, and watches a couple of movies.

Halfway through the second film in his marathon, he FaceTimes Ned and they discuss the logistics on his visit in a couple of days. He’s going to take a bus to Ithaca just as Peter did, arrive on the third, Steve is going to pick him up from the bus station, and he’ll stay until the sixth. Peter would love for him to stay until his actual birth date, but Ned’s mom doesn’t want him overstaying his welcome even if Steve insisted.

Peter just hopes he won’t explode with excitement when he sees Ned; he thinks he might miss him more than Tony.

The same Tony who still hasn’t reached out to him since that Saturday morning, where he told Steve that something came up and that Peter wasn’t allowed to go back to his own home. Peter decides not to dwell on that too much. He knows it will only upset and anger him to the point of hating his Pop and blaming himself.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to move back in with Tony full-time when school starts back up again, though. Peter has May and Steve to go between since they actually want to be around him.

Peter’s stomach rumbles loudly. Maybe he can make something without burning the house down.

 

  
One failed plate of burnt pancakes and another John Hughes movie later, the clock is striking two and someone is coming home.

Peter, halfway dozing off on the couch, jerks awakes at the sound of the garage door opening.

He expects to see Steve and Sam with multiple grocery bags in hand when he peaks over the couch, but it’s actually Bucky which immediately has Peter ducking away and pretending to be asleep.

He’s home quite early.

The man heads right to the kitchen and begins rustling around with the clank and clatter of dishes being moved about in his wake.

“Steve!” Bucky shouts over the running sink faucet. “Babe, you home?”

Of course, there’s no answer.

Bucky turns the faucet off. “Peter?!”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut impossibly tight. This must be what Fear Factor feels like.

The movement of Bucky’s weight goes from the kitchen to the den to the dining room, calling out for Peter’s name. Peter doesn’t so much as twitch when he hears Bucky enter the living room and exhale heavily upon sight of the teenager on the couch, pretending to be napping.

With his breath caught in his windpipe, Peter wills himself not to react when the footsteps begin approaching him and then stop. The heat of Bucky’s aura radiates above Peter’s body, and just when he’s about to break the act, a layer of fluffy cotton is laid over him, reaching his shoulder and covering his toes. Just as quickly as Bucky is there, he’s gone and back in the kitchen, rustling dishes around.

Peter cracks an eye open and checks his peripherals to see that the yellow blanket that usually stays draped over the sofa is now covering his skinny frame.

Blinking back his utter disbelief, Peter checks around him to make sure there aren’t any hidden cameras catching him in the middle of being pranked.

He’s unsure what this means, but he doesn’t let that stop him from snuggling into the blanket and actually going back to sleep this time.

 

Sam and Steve come back about two hours later with a minimum of fifty shopping bags from different stores and shops. They got decorations and food for the barbecue in addition to groceries for the house, which took what felt like forty-five minutes to put away.

When Peter looks down at his phone afterwards, he has a few texts from Gwen.

 _I’ll come get you at 5!!!!!_  
  
Be ready :)

_Can you roller skate?_

_Ok I’ll be ready and I’m not the best but I’m a fast learner if you’re willing to teach_ , Peter types back, escaping to his room when Sam, Bucky, and his Dad go out on the patio with their beers.

Peter rolls on more deodorant for good measure and digs through the dresser for a pair of pants he can skate in. All he has are jogger sweatpants, but he can already feel himself getting hot in them. And he certainly isn’t going to wear basketball shorts out with friends. Especially if Michelle is going to be—

He stops himself.

He won’t admit to himself that she’s a large majority of the reason why he agreed to go out with his coworkers, but she definitely is.

Eventually he settles on the black jeans he wore to Shuri’s party—the Jizz Jeans is what he calls them in his head—and a light blue plaid shirt.

He pats himself down to assure he has his phone, wallet, and keys when he hears what he assumes is Gwen’s silver Nissan over the gravel.

“Peter, Gwen is here!” Sam yells up the stairs, but Peter is already jogging down with a pep in his step.

Gwen—looking sophisticated in a faux leather miniskirt and a white peplum top—is talking to Steve at the front door, undoubtedly lost in the blue of the man’s eyes as most women are when they talk to him.

“Not bad for a first date,” Sam comments, looking over Peter’s choice of dress when he gets to the landing step.

“It’s not a date,” Peter quickly corrects him. “It’s a, uh, group of us going out tonight. Not a date. I mean I guess it’s a group date, but I don’t know if that’s what this would be called.”

Sam’s eyebrows rises as he glances at Gwen ecstatically listening to Steve then back to the nervous boy in front of him.

“She seems cute.”

Peter shrugs. “I haven’t noticed,” he admits. “Not really my type, I guess?”

Sam narrows his gaze at Peter. “Are you even old enough to have a type?”

Peter gulps. Sam is _definitely_ onto him.

If there’s anyone he would want to talk to about any of the stuff going on, it’s Sam. He’s the coolest, most open-minded, and easiest to talk to of Steve’s friends, and he’ll understand everything.

“I’m not getting into that, Uncle Sam,” Peter says, grinning to himself and walking up to Gwen and Steve in time to hear Steve inviting her to the barbecue.

“I'd love to come, Mr. Rogers.” She’s beaming from ear to ear and her dazzled disposition is almost distracting as the fact that she just called Steve by his surname.

“Great!” Steve cheers, hands up in victory. “That’s great!” Steve glances over at Peter then smiles politely at Gwen. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, kids. Have fun!”

“See ya, Dad!” Peter says on his way out following Gwen, but he’s pulled back by his collar with Steve’s finger hooked in shirt.

“Home by midnight, okay?”

Peter nods. “Midnight.”

Gwen’s car is exactly what Peter thought it’d be. It’s clean and smells like fresh laundry thanks to the clip-on scent attached to the AC. This is his first ride with someone his age driving, and it’s nothing short of freeing to be in the time of his life where he takes casual car rides with his friends.

“Your Dad is really nice,” she says after a moment of riding in silence, tapping her manicured fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “So’s your Uncle Sam. Stepdad doesn’t talk much, but he said he liked my shoes so, yeah.”

Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

 _Stepdad_.

“Yeah, um, they’re fun.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, your Dad, Mr. Rogers, isn’t your biological father, is he?”

“What gave it away? His height? Stunning blue eyes? Golden blonde hair?” Peter teases, smirking at the side of her face.

Gwen’s cheeks turn red as she twirls a platinum blond lock around her index finger. “Did I make myself that obvious?”

“If it means anything, he’s bisexual, so you might have a chance in a few years if things between he and his boyfriend don’t work out.”

Gwen groans and bites her lower lip to fight an oncoming smile. “Please stop talking, oh god.”

 

\- - 

 

  
The skate rink is about forty minutes from the lake house, and Peter offers to pay for Gwen’s gas when they get there.

“It’s okay,” she tells him while they’re waiting in line to pay admission. “I offered!”

“I still feel bad,” Peter continues, shaking his head. “My grandfather wasn’t really a people person, so he bought property excluded as hell from the rest of civilization.”

Gwen giggles even if Peter didn’t find it that funny. She laughs at a lot of the things Peter says, and it’s making his head quite big.

“Well, you can make it up to me by buying my dinner when we eat later. Sound fair?”

Peter nods. That makes him feel a lot better. “Yeah, I can do that.”

After paying for admission and skate rentals, Peter and Gwen are let into the rink where the carpet is glowing orange neon, greasy pizza and other fried food from the snack bar fill the air, flashing multi-colored disco lights illuminate the wooden skate floor, and a deejay booth sits on a platform above the rest of the facility.

It’s a lot to look at all at one time, but Peter appreciates the change of scenery.

“ _Wow_ ,” he mouths to himself, taking everything in while Gwen leads them to a bench and begins removing her shoes. “You guys come here every week?” he asks, setting his quads on the ground and rolling his foot on the carpet once to test stability; there isn't much.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she yells over the music, tightening her blades securely around her foot. “In fact, they should already be—”

“Gwen!” a shrill voice calls from across the rink and the girls who Peter recognizes as Betty, Cindy, and Sally skate over to greet them.

“Hey, guys!” Gwen stands then puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Peter, this is Sally, Betty, and Cindy,” she introduces them, pointing to each girl accordingly.

“I’m Peter,” he says tensely. “I work with you guys.”

(Why did he say that? They know they work with him! He would love to not be nervous every moment of his life so he wouldn’t say dumb shit like that.)

Betty, the only other blonde white girl, chuckles and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’re Peggy’s nephew, right?”

“I am, yeah,” he says and then clarifies with, “I mean, not by blood or anything! She and my Dad are best friends, so in a way I am. I think.”

They all look at him for a split second without responding, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to babble.

“I didn’t get the job ‘cus she’s family. I mean, I did, but there’s no favoritism or anything, ya know? I’m just like you guys. Aside from serving tables and stuff. Which is way more important than cleaning them.”

He chuckles at nothing and scratches the back of his neck. _Stop fucking talking, weirdo…_

Fortunately for Peter’s nerves, none of the girls seem to be outright annoyed by his rambling. In fact, Sally is smiling warmly while Cindy is nodding with interest. Gwen hasn’t removed her hand from from his shoulder, and he has no idea how to feel about that.

“Michelle!” Sally suddenly exclaims, waving at the entrance until Michelle, in all her nonchalant glory, walks over to the group. She gives a once over and then a double take when she sees Peter sitting on the bench.

He smiles meekly up at her, intimidated by the girl even under the lights turning her face every color of the rainbow.

“Hey, girl!” Gwen says and squeezes Peter’s shoulder now. “You know Peter!”

_Of course, she knows Peter._

Michelle blinks once and nods. “Yes, I’m _aware_ of Peter,” she corrects her and sits on the bench right beside him to take her shoes off.

The first thing he notices about her is that her scent does not match her appearance. That comes off rude when he thinks it, but really, he always imagined Michelle didn’t have much of a scent to her, but right now, as she sits next to him, he catches a full whiff of shea butter and argan oil. The only reason why he knows those is because May never leaves the house without putting on Shea Moisture body lotion.

As if the hearts in his eyes aren’t already big enough, he notices all her little endearing quirks like her chipped black nail polish, the hastily applied smudged mascara around her eyes, and diamond stud earrings.

It’s all so simple, but it makes Peter’s stomach flip and flop all the same.

Why is his heart beating so fast?

He should definitely stop staring at Michelle before she notices and it gets weird.

 

  
As promised, Gwen helps Peter get the hang of skating, and not before long, he’s gliding around the gigantic wooden track with ease. He only trips once or twice, but aside from that, he’s enjoying the time and his coworkers.

They could be called friends, right?

They all remind him of Ned in their own way, and he’s starting to like them. Sally wants to study psychology when she graduates, Betty is an anchor at her school’s news station, Cindy is on her school’s decathlon team, and Gwen is a STEM student like Peter.

Michelle, however, doesn’t offer much.

It’s fine that she doesn’t, but it’s hard to get to know someone when they don’t talk a lot. Every time she whizzes past him, it feels like she’s making a show of ignoring him. Even when he skates close beside or behind her, she speeds up and out of the way, making it nearly impossible for them to even talk.

Maybe she doesn’t like him?

But what did he do?

Does it have something to do with the Rumlow incident?

After an hour of skating around, the girls and Peter exit the skate floor to take a breather on the sidelines. The girls are immersing in their gossip with Peter listening in every other sentence, but he can’t find himself in on the conversation. The girls talk a lot, but he takes a weird comfort in being included.

If he told Ned that he was invited out to a group date with five girls, he would never believe him.

Gwen stands from the bench, announcing she has to go to the bathroom. The other girls follow her across the rink to the restroom, leaving just Michelle and Peter sitting at the snack table.

To his surprise, she’s staring right at him when he stops pretending to not notice her.

He gulps. “Hi.”

She lifts both eyebrows quickly and smirks. 

 _Hey_.

Peter clears his throat. “Um, uh, so you guys, uh—” He points around at the rest of the rink, words caught right in his throat, clawing over top of each other to get out coherently.

“It’s not nice to point, Peter,” she tells him, and he drops his hands into his lap. That’s the first thing she’s said to him all night, but he’s too lovestruck to tell that she’s joking.

“Oh, sorry!” Peter gulps again. “Um, I was just saying, um, ya know. You guys are here often.”

She nods and moves a ringlet of hair from in front of her eyes.

“That’s cool! Really cool!”

“It’s just roller skating.”

“Yeah, but, uh—we, uh… it’s still cool. Lights,” he mutters lamely, gesturing to the ceiling. “Music is good. My Dad usually doesn’t let me eat greasy snack bar food. Says it’s bad for my skin, so I don’t get pimples a lot. He got me this really expensive face wash from a business trip a few months ago. It, uh, smells like avocados. I think it’s infused with castor oil or something. I have kinda dry-to-combination skin— _Okay, why are you looking at me like that?_ ”

Michelle, amused, hitches her shoulders up and shakes her head. “Looking at you like what?”

“Do you, like, hate me or something? I feel like you do or else you’d stop me from just going on and on and embarrassing myself.”

The girl leans forward on her elbows against the snack table. “To hate you would mean that I feel something about you, wouldn’t it? Do I have a reason to really like you?”

That’s the most she’s ever said to him, and Peter’s brain almost can’t compute it all at once.

“Uh, well, I figured since we work together and ya know,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck and blinking rapidly. “And the whole thing with, uh, that guy. I thought maybe you’d—”

“Are you insinuating that because you stood up for me against some random guy assaulting me that I owe you friendship?” she asks skeptically, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

Peter’s heart plummets to his stomach.

“Uh, no! God, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” he scrambles, hands flailing about as if the motions will help prove his point. “I j-j-just, uh, shit, I thought that if—”

“I’m definitely fucking with you.” Her grin is huge and sarcastic.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Peter’s heart rate struggles to beat back in tune even as she sits back in her chair with a grin so wide and sarcastic, it could rival the Cheshire Cat.

“So, you _don’t_ hate me, do you?” Peter asks.

“You seem like a good human being who I don’t dislike, so no. Don’t hate you.”

His neck heats up. “That’s good, ‘cus I don’t dislike you either. In fact, I think you’re pretty cool.”

“I am cool. You’re a nervous wreck.”

“Yeah, it’s the anxiety,” he blurts and covers his mouth. “I mean, I’m cool, too. I’m—”

“You don’t have to prove it to me. Even if you are ridiculously jumpy all the time, we can be friends.”

Peter perks up. “Oh,” he says again. “Friends. Yeah, I’d like that. _Friends_.”

“Do you usually repeat yourself a lot?”

She makes a fair point.

The music overheard lowers and the silk smooth voice of the deejay amplifies over the speakers with the lights dimming in the process. “Alright, ladies and gents, this next skate is for the couples only. I repeat, couples only. So grab that special someone and hold them close for this one!”

As the music is turning back up, the skate floor is filling by the two’s with people holding hands. The sight of it makes Peter’s stomach turn to mush while his heart goes back to hammering heavy in his chest when Michelle reaches across the table to tap his arm.

When he looks up at her, she’s nodding towards the skate floor in invitation.

Surely he’s dreaming.

“Uh,” he squeaks, following her gaze. “It’s a couple’s skate.”

“Yeah, and there’s two of us, and I really like this song. C’mon, friend.”

Peter does as he’s told and joins Michelle on the skate floor. Instead of speeding up to avoid him, she matches his pace so they can finally skate right next to each other.

“Never would’ve taken you for an Ariana Grande fan,” Peter confesses upon recognizing the song choice.

Michelle swivels on her blade to be facing him, skating backwards now. “What kinda music do you like?”

“Uh, a little of everything, I guess. My Dad listens to a lot of classical music, so I’m pretty much always around that. My aunt May won’t let disco music go and has not forgiven straight white men for killing the scene, so that’s always playing too.”

“A woman of good taste.” Michelle nods approvingly and swivels back around to skate beside him.

For once, Peter isn’t freaking out. Michelle, as eccentric as she is, is a normal girl just like he’s a normal boy, so there shouldn’t be a reason why he’d be nervous around her. She’s even humming to the music as they do lap after lap, so he joins in and focuses on not falling.

In the middle of the song, Gwen and the rest of the girls return back to the the floor, paired off with one another and holding hands as they glide around.

Would it be inappropriate and awkward for Peter to take Michelle’s hand? It wouldn’t mean anything; it’s just for the sake of the song. Everyone else is doing it, so why not?

_“Oh baby, look what you started...The temperature's rising in here...Is this gonna happen?...Been waiting and waiting for you to make a move…Before I make a move…”_

Peter swallows a lump and eases closer to her. She doesn’t notice immediately, but when she does, she looks questioning, which he interprets as why are you so close to me?

He sways away, defeated and his head ducking low. That took about two seconds to ruin.

Gwen and Cindy zoom past the two of them. Sally and Betty aren’t far behind.

“Hurry up, slow asses!” Sally yells at them, already halfway around the rink.

_“So baby, come light me up and baby I'll let you on it… A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it… A little less conversation, and a little more touch my body...'Cause I’m so into you, into you, into you…”_

The fast pace of the chorus is very encouraging, but Peter stalls making a move again. What he doesn’t expect is for Michelle to intertwine their fingers and pick up their speed to skate as one.

_“Got everyone watchin' us, so baby, let's keep it secret...A little bit scandalous, but baby, don’t let them see it...A little less conversation and a little more touch my body...'Cause I’m so into you, into you, into you…”_

Peter dies momentarily and when he’s back in his body, he pushes himself to keep up with Michelle so not to have to let her very soft hand go. He’s not even remotely concerned with any of his hang ups prior to this very moment, because Michelle is holding his hand and he feels like he’s floating.

He got a rush much like this one when Liz invited him and Ned to watch movies and again when that boy kissed him the first time. Slow dancing with Shuri and seeing her don his sweatshirt made him giddy in way he never thought possible.

Is it healthy for his affection to be spread so thin?

If it’s not, he really doesn’t care.

 

The group leaves the skate rink at nine when it closes for the night and ends up in the rounded booth of a nearby pizza parlor half an hour later.

Peter takes the outer seat closest to the entrance next to Gwen. She’s made it obvious that she wants to sit next to him by the way she tugged on his arm when the hostess lead them to their table. Michelle is on the opposite side, right in front of him, which is just as good a view as it would be if she were next to him.

He really shouldn’t stare so much.

The server comes over to introduce himself, write down their drink orders, and give them the specials even though Peter is just craving meat lover’s pizza and pistachio gelato. He doesn’t look at the menu as extensively as Sally, Betty, Gwen, and Cindy do; Michelle doesn’t look at hers at all.

“You already know what you want?” Peter wonders, and she nods.

“I’m a vegetarian, so it’s either cheese pizza or I starve.”

“Oh, my father is vegetarian!” he says, and Gwen looks up from her menu.

“Your Dad is a vegetarian?” she repeats in disbelief. “There’s no way he looks like Mr. Incredible and he’s only eating rabbit food.”

Peter shakes his head. “Oh, no, not that dad. My other dad. I have two.”

“Two dads,” Betty repeats, putting her menu down. “So you’re adopted?”

“My parents got a surrogate,” he explains. “The dad I’m staying with here isn’t blood, but he’s my parent regardless.”

“Oh, wow,” Cindy chimes in. “How long have they been together?”

“Eighteen years,” he answers, swallowing down his own self pity when the girls _ooh_ and _ahh_ about how his parents are “relationship goals.” Gwen is about to interject with her knowledge about Peter’s “stepdad,” but the waiter approaches the table just then.

“Are the checks going to all together or separate?” he asks, whipping out his notepad.

Peter points between he and Gwen. “Ours is together,” he tells the waiter. He completely misses the various looks from each girl at the table, each one meaning something different. He doesn’t catch Gwen’s elated beam, Betty’s knowing smirk, Sally’s raised eyebrows, Cindy’s side eye, or Michelle’s observing glare at the two of them.

They get two pizzas for table—one cheese and one meat lovers—along with appetizers. There’s another point in the evening when Betty, Cindy, Sally, and Gwen are having another jumbled conversation while Michelle silently chews a slice of pizza and gives her two cents when asked.

As Peter joins them more often, maybe he will get caught up on the gossip.

Until then, he’s going to enjoy his pizza and mind his business.

 

At ten till eleven, they leave the restaurant with takeout boxes in hand. Betty, having driven with Sally and Cindy earlier, offers Michelle a ride home. On the walk over to Betty’s Jeep, Peter nudges Michelle with his elbow.

“Um, since we’re friends now,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to the Fourth of July birthday thing at my house. I think Gwen is going and bringing the other girls, but ya know, the invitation is extended to you, too.”

Michelle continues staring forward with disregarded gaze in her light brown eyes. She doesn’t show she even heard him, until she sucks her teeth, turns to him, then says, “Birthday.”

“Yeah, uh, my Dad’s birthday is on the fourth and mine is on the seventh, so we just do a three-in-one type deal.”

“Convenient.”

“Yeah, it works out. But, no, yeah, we’d love to have you over. If you want, ya know?”

“Sure,” she decides, opening the back door to Betty’s Jeep. “Sounds like a lot of fun, new friend.”

Peter grins. He’s going to burst. “Great! Great, yeah, okay! So, I’ll see you then.”

“You’ll see what I choose for you to see.”

And with that, she climbs into the backseat and shuts the door before he can get a word out. As weird as that goodbye is, he’s slowly learning to not take any of her weirdness to heart.

 

\- -

 

Gwen gets Peter home just before midnight.

He thanks her for inviting him, enters the dark and quiet house without waking anyone up, and puts his leftover pizza in the fridge.

After taking off his clothes and snuggling under the covers, he reflects on the night which gets his right hand—the hand Michelle held—tingling with the ghost of her touch.

As far as group dates go, he can say he had fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, I imagine Gwen Stacy is portrayed by [Lili Reinhart](https://goo.gl/images/L5SSC5) of Riverdale and the movie, Miss Stevens. All other characters such as [Michelle](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Michelle_Jones), [Sally](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Sally_Avril), [Cindy](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Cindy_Moon), and [Betty](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Betty_Brant) are as portrayed in Spider-Man: Homecoming.
> 
> The song used in this chapter is Into You by Ariana Grande.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offense, but I love HalcyonSeasons with every fiber of my being.

The knots twisting in Peter’s core are those excited nerves that would usually go along with going on a first date or getting married.

However, he is doing neither.

He and Steve are on the way to the bus station to pick up Ned, and the knots have been twisting since the first of the month. Peter cannot recall ever being so excited for anything the way he is to see his best friend after nearly a month without him.

The ride feels longer than usual because Peter is so eager to get their three days together started.

Steve turns down the radio. “You still sharing your room?” he asks.

Peter nods with confidence. “There’s no point in having a separate room if he’s only gonna be here for a few days. And we’ll only be there at night.”

“You plan on showing him around?”

“Yeah, of course! He’s gonna meet everyone tomorrow, and maybe, like, we can go out with Gwen and her friends somewhere, ya know?”

Steve nods, taking a split second to glance over at his son then back at the open road. “Gwen seems really nice.”

“Um, uh, yeah, she’s a cool girl.”

“Mhm. She’s really taken a liking to you.”

Peter sits up straight in the passenger seat and looks at the side of his Dad’s face. “Did she tell you that?”

“She didn’t have to tell me.”

“Then how do you know?”

“You’d have to be blind to not see how she was looking at you when she came to pick you up that day. Thought her poor cheeks were gonna rip with how hard she was cheesing at you.”

“I didn’t notice.”

Steve presses onto the brake as they approach a red light. “Sam and I did, though. We think it’s kinda cute.”

How did Peter miss that?

“Well, she’s a friend,” Peter clarifies. “Just a friend.”

“Thought you might like someone like her.”

“I mean, I do like her. Just not like that. And even if I did, I wouldn’t really do anything about it ‘cus we work together and everything.”

That logic doesn’t apply to Michelle, but Steve didn’t need to know that.

Steve nods, taking in what he’s been told, and accelerates at the flash of the green light. “Sam thinks you have a crush on Shuri,” he admits, and Peter just about chokes on the sudden lump in his throat.

“Sh-Shuri?!” he exclaims. “Why does he think that?”

“Well, he said you were googly-eyed as all hell when you guys first met and you guys practically text from sunrise to sunset.”

(They’re just sending each other memes, but it’s a valid point.)

“And on top of that, you gave her your sweatshirt,” Steve continues, sounding almost impressed. “I didn’t think guys still did that.”

“That’s just being courteous, Dad. It was a little chilly outside and she needed a layer. That’s all.”

“It’s okay if you do have a little crush on her, Peter. Shuri is a one in a million.”

It’s not the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard; it’s very spot on and accurate, but he still has a right to be shocked that someone caught onto his feelings.

“She’s Sam’s niece, though,” he mentions. “Wouldn’t that kinda be incest even if Sam and I aren’t blood related?”

Steve’s mouth quirks upward. “I suppose you could think of it that way, but it’s still a great fit.”

Peter shrugs. “I’m not really into dating right now anyway, Dad, so it doesn’t matter if I do or don’t have a crush on anybody.”

Steve definitely doesn’t believe him, but he leaves the conversation where it is to avoid tension.

A half mile later, they arrive at the bus station and wait in the parking lot for Ned’s bus. Ned said he would be there by three-thirty at the latest. Peter has gone back to slouching in the passenger seat because it’s much too hot today to put effort into sitting properly.

Steve taps on the steering wheel with his index fingers. “So, about tomorrow,” he starts.

Peter doesn’t look up from his phone. “Mhm?”

“Natasha is flying in from D.C.”

Peter puts his phone down. “Seriously?!”

Steve shakes his head yes, meeting his son’s excited stare. “Yeah,” he says. “She says she feels bad about not being able to make it last year and that she can’t wait to see you.”

Natasha—Peter’s official godmother and another one of Steve’s childhood friends—moved to D.C about a year and a half ago, but she and the Stark family talk frequently enough that it doesn’t feel like that much time has passed since they last saw each other. Being a public relations manager for government affairs keeps her busy a lot of the time, but Natasha is the type of person who makes time for people she wants to actually make time for.

“Is she just staying for the day?”

“She said she’d be staying as long as she can before she has to take a flight back to handle work, but yeah, I’m hoping that includes the day.”

“Ah, that’s awesome!” Peter exclaims, turning back to his phone.

Another few minutes pass before Steve speaks up again.

“One more thing.”

Peter keeps scrolling. “Yeah?”

Steve pauses long enough for Peter to look away from his phone again and scrunch his face up at the conflicted expression on his Dad’s face.

“Bucky’s mother and sister are coming, too.”

The thing that strikes Peter odd about that sentence is that Bucky has relatives of his own. He could’ve predicted that he did have somebody out there, but a mom and a sister? Why the hell isn’t he with his own family instead of homewrecking Peter’s?

“Oh.” Peter blinks once. Twice. A third time.

He’s not processing that _Bucky_ , of all people, has a mother who gave birth to him and probably loves him dearly. He has a sister who he grew up and got into trouble with. These people are coming to their barbecue since they were most likely invited by Steve personally, since he’s dating Bucky and has known Mrs. Bucky’s Mom and Ms. Bucky’s Sister since he was a teenager.

And whether Peter likes to admit it or not, the lake house is Bucky’s as well as Steve’s.

It makes all the sense for them to come.

What if they’re as mean as Bucky? Would they hate Peter upon meeting him too?

There’s gonna be three of them.

In one house.

At one time.

Peter is going to die, he’s sure of it.

“Are you listening to me?” Steve asks.

“Yeah?” He gulps.

“They’re taking a quick flight in from Brooklyn,” Steve explains. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”

“Are they nice?”

Steve nods. “Mama Barnes is the sweetest woman alive, and Becca, his sister, is something else with how funny she is.”

Peter wants to trust Steve’s judgment, but this is the same man that stated, “ _Bucky is a good guy, if you give him a chance._ ” It’s been almost a month since they've met, and Peter feels no differently towards him.

Just then, at three minutes after three-thirty, a bus pulls into the station, and Peter’s phone chimes with an incoming text.

 _Here!_ is all it says.

Peter hops out of the truck and leans against the hood, scanning every face of every passenger until he finds his best friend. When Ned steps off the bus, Peter doesn’t hesitate running up to him and catching him completely off guard with both arms around his shoulders.

“Oof!” Ned huffs, stunned by the onslaught. Then he recognizes the random twink wrapped around him as Peter, so he returns the hug and pats his back. “I missed you, too, buddy.”

“I cannot even begin to tell you how happy I am to see you,” Peter mutters into his friend’s neck. He then pulls away and slings Ned’s duffel bag over his shoulder. “Oh, my god. I’m going to cry. You’re gorgeous, man.”

“Okay, drama queen,” Ned chuckles then shoots a sincere smile at Steve as he approaches the boys. “Hi, Mr. Stark! I mean, not really Stark, but I have no idea what to call you now, sir.”  

Steve smiles despite Peter’s blatant grimace of disappointment. “You can call me Mr. Rogers or Steve—whichever you find more comfortable, although I prefer Steve ‘cus if you call me Mr. Rogers, I feel like I have to show you around my neighborhood.”

Steve is the only one who gets a kick out of his joke mainly because Ned and Peter don’t catch the reference, and even if they did, they wouldn’t laugh at the dorky things Steve usually has to say.

Peter grimaces and shrugs. “I don’t get it.”

“I know you don’t. Damn Generation Z,” Steve mumbles to himself. He gestures down the road. “Let’s get going. It’s a bit of a ride back, Ned. You alright with being out in the middle of nowhere for a few days?”

“Just as long as I don’t have to fight any wild animals for food.”

“You just might, buddy,” Peter mutters under his breath.  


 

Bucky is already settled in at the house by the time Steve and the boys get there almost an hour later.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts as they enter the hallway through the garage.

“Watchin’ TV!” the other man yells back.

“Come meet my friend. Then you guys can go upstairs and get settled,” Steve instructs, hand placed firmly on Ned’s shoulder as they enter the living room. “Buck.”

Bucky looks over from his curled up spot on the recliner and pauses his program to rise to his feet and approach them.

The protective streak in Peter wants to jump between Bucky and his friend, but instead of slapping Ned smooth across his bald head like Peter envisioned, Bucky extends his hand to the boy with a wide toothy grin.

“Hey,” he says softly as though he were talking to a adorable woodland creature… which isn’t far off because Ned does resemble a chipmunk in the cutest way possible. “You’re Ned, huh?”

Ned’s eyebrows fly upward in clear shock, but he takes Bucky’s hand anyway and they shake. “Uh, yeah, I am.”

“I’m James, but you can just call me Bucky,” he tells him, dropping Ned’s hand and putting his own into his jean pocket. “It’s nice to meet you, kid. How long we got you till?”

“The sixth, sir,” Ned answers politely, but Bucky waves it off.

“I’m too delusional in my age to accept being called ‘sir.’ It’s Bucky, okay?”

“Bucky, then. Yeah, just the sixth.”

Bucky nods, still smiling. “Great! Well, I hope we can show you a good time till then.”

Peter, impressed at just witnessing the leading contender in this year’s Oscar for Best Male Performance, grips Ned’s shoulder and heads towards the steps. “Speaking of showing, I’m gonna show him my room. We’ll see you guys at dinner.”

“It was nice meeting you, Bucky!” Ned says, waving while Peter to drags him upstairs.

Once they’re in Peter’s room and out of earshot, Peter tosses Ned’s duffel bag onto the bed and presses himself up against the closed door with a frustrated thud.

“I hate him,” Peter grumbles.

Ned plops on the mattress. “Well, he is a lot more pleasant than you described.”

“Yeah, of course, he’s being nice now. It’s me. It’s literally just me that he hates. He wasn’t half as nice to me when we met!”

“You ate the man’s chocolate cake.”

“Okay, and I got him another piece, ya know? I thought we were squared, but I guess my existence just pisses him off.”

Ned squints his eyes at Peter. “I don’t think that’s it. From what you’ve told me, he just ignores you because you actively avoid him, which I wouldn’t take as him hating you. He’s just matching your energy, man.”

“Dude,” Peter sighs. “Whose side are you on?”

“There’s no side to take. You’re creating this beef in your head.”

Peter shakes his head, ready to change the subject. “I just really don’t know, Ned. Maybe I am, but for right now? I’m not.”  

That evening, the four of them eat sloppy Joes out on the patio. If Peter feels a little jealous about Bucky being interested in Ned’s contributions to the conversation, he keeps it to himself and pouts about it throughout the movie they watch afterwards and onto bedtime.

  
\--

 

Peter is awake before Ned on account of anticipation keeping him up half the night tossing and turning. It’s only nine in the morning, but Steve is already in the kitchen preparing food while Bucky decorates the patio and backyard with outlandish Fourth of July decorations.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” Peter mutters tiredly as he strolls into the kitchen and overlooks the various bowls, pots, and pans littering the counter. “I suppose we’re not getting breakfast?”

“You’re gonna have to make do with cereal or wait ‘til we fire up the grill, kiddo,” Steve tells him, stirring the huge pot of macaroni noodles and then checking the heat on the boiling potatoes. “And, thank you. I feel as young as I look.”

“What time is everyone getting here?” Peter takes two bowls out of the cabinet and pours one bowl with Frosted Flakes and the other with Froot Loops.

“Sam said he’ll be here sometime around noon to help cook, but I put one o’clock on the invite for actual guests,” Steve explains, and adjusts the heat on the noodles. “You told all your friends to bring a bathing suit if they wanna swim, right?”

“Uh, yeah, but I highly doubt Gwen, Shuri, or Michelle are gonna wanna get in that water.” Peter pours a reasonable amount of milk into each bowl.

“Who’s Michelle?”

Peter pauses. _Shit_. “Just this girl I work with.”

“Hmmph.”

Peter grabs two spoons and rushes back up the stairs before Steve can ask any more questions.

Ned is just waking up when Peter shoves the Frosted Flakes in his face. “Eat up.”

Ned blindly takes the bowl before even yawning. “Thanks, Peter. What time is it?”

Peter plops on the mattress, chewing on a spoonful of Froot Loops and checks his phone. “Nine-eighteen in the morning, my friend.”

“What time does the party start?”

“One.” Peter puts another spoonful in and chews.

Ned nods and sits up against the headboard. “Ya know, I was gonna say this later, but I might as well now. Your Dad is hot for thirty-nine.”

“Dude…”

“I’m serious! Like, he’s a man! A fine man!”

“Ned, shut up.”

“And Bucky? Okay, you may hate his guts but you can’t deny that he’s a looker.”

“Ned, _please_.”

  
\--

 

As promised, Sam arrives at noon to help Steve cook the rest of the food and display them in chafing dishes on tables in the backyard. Peter helps by putting out the plates and cutlery while Ned dumps sodas and beers into a cooler of ice.

The first guest to arrive is Peggy. She comes bearing two large gift bags for Peter and Steve, and a pasta salad dish for the party.

“Happy birthday, love!” she says, rubbing Steve’s shoulder when they embrace at the front door. “Thirty-nine never looked so good!”

Steve’s face is flushing red, but he keeps his composure. “Thank you, Peg,” he says gratefully and turns to Peter and Ned standing there watching. “You guys wanna show her where to put—”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Peter says, taking the gift bags and handing them to Ned. He then takes the dish for himself. As they walk towards the backyard, Peter nods between them and says, “Um, Aunt Peg, this is my best friend, Ned. Ned, my Aunt peg.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am!” Ned greets politely, putting the gift bags on the coffee table on the way outside.

“Likewise, darling. And please call me Peggy.”

 

Bucky begins grilling hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken, and ribs a quarter after one. Natasha and her longtime boyfriend, Clint, walk around the house into the backyard another fifteen minutes later. Peter flies out of the lake to meet them.

With a present in each of their hands, Natasha and Clint hug and greet Sam, Bucky, Peggy, and Steve one by one with broad smiles and friendly hugs. They all seem happy to finally be reunited after such a while and Peter really appreciates that Natasha could make it for Steve’s birthday.

When it’s finally Peter’s turn, he charges full speed at his godmother and tightly squeezes his arms around her shoulders to make up for all the times he couldn’t in the last year and a half.

“Someone misses me,” she quips in her deep, husky voice, patting his bare back lovingly.

“I’m so glad you could come,” he mutters and pulls away. “Both of you,” he says, gesturing to Clint with a slight nod.

“And miss a chance to see my dear godson? You know me better than that, малыш,” Natasha says with a small grin. “How are you?”

Peter shrugs. “I'm alright.”

Natasha nod, understanding. “Well, today will be fun.”

Peter is usually inclined to believe Natasha, but seeing as though she and Clint are buddy-buddy with Bucky, it’s hard to see it that way. “I’m not gonna let anything bother me today, Nat.”

“As you shouldn’t.”

 

 

 

Gwen, Betty, and Sally show up at two on the dot bearing one gift bag addressed to Peter, a store-bought fruit salad bowl, potato chips, and homemade cupcakes in a plastic container.

“Oh, these are for you!” Gwen says, thrusting the colorful cupcakes towards Peter. “I made them for you. Happy birthday, Peter!” she exclaims and wraps her arms around his neck.

He can’t hug back with his occupied hands so he nods to the ceiling. “Thanks, Gwen,” he mumbles, pulls out of the hug, and looks to the other two girls who look way too delighted to be attending a Fourth of July barbecue.  

“Everything is in the back,” he says, gesturing to the screen door down the hall. “You guys can help yourselves to anything. If you need to change into bathing suits, the bathroom is down this hall to the right.”

When the girls scatter with a wave of laughter to follow and Peter is left by himself, he opens the container to see six cupcakes decorated immaculately with navy blue frosting and white sprinkles. Each treat has a letter of his name swirled out in cherry red frosting with the sixth cupcake hosting a heart.

“Cute,” he snickers and reminds himself to take a picture later.

 

 

Peter’s heart does a flutter and his stomach does a flip when Sam announces that Shuri is here.

“Hey, c’mon,” Peter whispers to Ned and they climb out of the lake to meet her at the door.

“Peter, you guys can’t be coming in and out of the house from the lake,” Steve calls to him from the screen door. “You’re gonna ruin the floor!”

Peter waves him off and keeps his sights set on Shuri standing there at the front door looking up at her uncle like she’s the cat that got the canary.

“I told you I’d be fashionably late,” Shuri is saying, but Sam can’t hope to be bothered. She does looks perfect as always, so the chances of her getting in the lake are very slim.

“Hey, Shuri!” Peter exclaims with a squeak then clears his throat. “I mean, hey, Shuri. Thanks for coming.”

Sam inverts his lips into his mouth to avoid chuckling aloud. “Yeah, coming two hours late.”

“I’m on CP time!” Shuri insists and turns to her friend, holding out a wrapped box. “Anyway, happy birthday, Queens.”

“Thanks!” Peter takes the gift and pats Ned on the back. “Shuri, this is my best friend, Ned, who I was telling you about. Ned, this is Shuri, my fake cousin.”

Sam outright laughs now. “I’ll be teaching your Dad how to grill if you need me, kid,” he excuses himself and pats Peter on the back on his way back down the hall.

Shuri gives Ned a cool nod and grins. “Any friend of Peter is a friend of mine, even though he’s made it very clear that you are his only friend.”

Ned puts a hand to his chest, clutching his heart. “Oh, wow. That’s the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.”

 

 

Gwen, Betty, Sally, and Shuri welcome Ned with open arms, which brings a huge smile to Peter’s face. He and Ned never had more than three friends between them, so to see them flourishing socially and being genuinely liked by people their own age puts a lot into perspective.

Maybe they would be more popular if they just put themselves out there? It’s not that the kids at Midtown are mean—Ned and Peter just don’t make much effort to be anyone else’s friend but each other’s.

The second the school year starts, Peter promises himself to be more open. Watching all the friends he’s made here interact with the one from home makes him giddy and appreciative, and he wishes he didn’t deprive himself of this feeling for the last three years.

“You eat like a wild rhino,” Shuri comments and hands Peter a napkin for the barbecue sauce on his chin. “Here, wild boy.”

He looks up from his plate to take the napkin and wipe his face. “I’m a teenage boy. I’m supposed to eat like this,” he insists through a mouth of food.

“You’re also supposed to swallow your food before you speak so you don’t choke,” she snaps back and goes back to delicately eating her macaroni and cheese. “Your friend, Ned, is cool peoples.”

“The love of my life,” Peter sighs wistfully, watching Ned and the other girls play a game of chicken fight.

Shuri giggles and pokes a piece of watermelon with her fork. “Better not let Gwen hear that.”

Peter swallows his mouthful and chases it with a gulp of water. “What does Gwen have to do with anything?”

“Are you joking? No, really, are you kidding me? Do you wear contacts? Glasses?”

“Uh—”

“So, what you’re saying to me on this blessed day under the New York sun is that you don’t know that Gwen has a big ol’ crush on you?”

Peter grimaces. “How can you tell?”

Shuri groans, hands flying in the air. “Peter, really?”

He knows she means that because she rarely calls him by his government name. “My Dad and Sam said the same thing.”

“Well, now I’m saying it. The girl likes you. Why don’t you do something about it?”

 _Because I don’t want to_ is at the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say it without sounding rude. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to when Steve comes up behind them and plants his firm hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt you guys, but do you mind if I steal Peter for a minute, Shuri?” he asks politely, even though Peter is already rising from his seat.

“Go for it,” she says nonchalantly and stabs a chunk of pineapple.

Steve pulls Peter into the house at the same moment that Bucky is opening the front door to reveal two women standing there, holding gift bags. Upon seeing each other, the three of them exclaim excitedly. Bucky moves aside to let them in, and Peter’s heart drops even though he doesn’t recognize them.

This is Mrs. Bucky’s Mom and Ms. Bucky’s Sister.

_Shit._

“Bucky’s mom and sister are here, and they’d like to meet you, so please be nice,” Steve whispers to his son, and Peter’s head snaps to the side.

They look almost _friendly_.

“Okay?” Peter utters, perplexed. “Why do they wanna meet me?” he wonders in a hushed and annoyed tone, and cowers under Steve giving him that damn disappointed Dad face. Steve makes his way to the front room, approaching the three Barneses with a sudden genuine smile and a prep in his step.  

Peter shuts his mouth and tries not to make it obvious that he’s about as interested in meeting Mrs. Bucky’s Mom and Ms. Bucky’s Sister as he would be to meet the devil.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Bucky!” the young lady—maybe in her mid-twenties—exclaims, rocking with the hug and smiling brightly. “You get a new boyfriend and suddenly we don’t hear from you.”

Bucky releases the hug, his touch lingering on the woman—Bucky’s sister, Peter guesses—who looks up at him like he’s hung the moon.

“You can hardly call Steve new,” Bucky jokes and puts an arm around the older and shorter woman whose blue eyes could rival the sky. This is Bucky’s mother—Mama Barnes—and it shows with how much they look alike.

“Happy birthday, Stevie!” Bucky’s sister cheers, dazzling blue eyes eagerly looking up at him.

Steve swoops in for an embrace with the young lady. “Missed you, too, Becca,” he mutters into her dark brown hair and swerves on his heels to hug Bucky’s mother. “Nice to always see you, Mama Barnes.”

“It’s nice to see my Steven, too! You boys need to call more often!” she complains in the thickest Brooklyn accent Peter has ever heard, and pinches Bucky’s ear. “You too good to call your mother, eh?”

“Ow, ma! Shit,” Bucky growls and rubs his ear. “Just been busy.”

“Too busy for your mother?”

Peter bites back his laugh and ducks his head. He suddenly likes Mrs. Bucky’s Mom.

Steve clears his throat to get their attention and puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Mama Barnes,” he calls.

The older woman turns to Steve and her eyes light up at the sight of Peter just standing there.

“Oh, my god, this must be the boy!” she announces with way too much passion for her to be a stranger. “Is this Steven’s little boy?”

“Ma, the kid has a name,” Bucky mumbles, rolling his eyes. “Quit embarrassing him.”

“Hush!” she hisses at him, but has a blinding twinkle of a smile for Peter. “Peter Benjamin, I’ve been waiting to meet since Steven told us he had you! You look just like your father. Wow.”

“Um, I’m, yeah. Peter. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he stutters and holds his hand out for her to shake, but she takes it upon herself to pull his body to hers and squeeze.

Despite the overwhelming aroma of perfume, the hug is warm and welcoming.

“Ma, the boy is turning blue,” Bucky complains. “I’m sure his friends wanna see him sometime today.”

Mama Barnes reluctantly releases the boy from her hold and clasps her hands together in wonderment. “God, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, gosh, none of this ‘ma’am’ nonsense, dear! We’re family now, so please call me Mama Barnes!”

 _Family_.

Peter nods awkwardly. “Mama Barnes.”

Bucky’s sister puts her arm around her mother now and holds her hand out to Peter. “Becca,” she introduces herself, red lips cocked up in a sideways smile. “I’m Bucky’s younger sister, but don't hold it against me.”

Peter scoffs. _If only she knew…_

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says, shaking her hand firmly and looking up to meet her baby blue eyes.

Becca is only slightly shorter than Bucky but taller than Peter, which means their father must be huge. Although she favors Mama Barnes more especially in the eyes, chin, and nose, Bucky somehow manages to look just like his mother.

Mr. Barnes’s eyes must be grey, and that’s where Bucky gets his from.

Peter shakes his head back to the present when he hears his Dad giving him instruction to show Becca and Mama Barnes the backyard.

After doing so, Peter sits back on the patio with Shuri—who has taken to uploading selfies on her Snapchat story—and finishes his plate of food. Even though the sun is still peeking out from the horizon, fireworks have already begun blasting off in town.

Peter dips back in the water for a while longer before changing into basketball shorts and a sweater. Around five o’clock, Sam announces it’s time to cut the cake and sing “Happy Birthday” to Steve and Peter.

Steve and Peter sit at the picnic table surrounded by all their guests and awkwardly eyeball them and each other as they sing the tune off-key. Much to Peter’s surprise, Natasha and Sam present them both with a huge custom _Star Wars_ cake with both of their names on it and sparklers going off like the fireworks overhead. The boy dodges getting his head smashed with cake, but Steve isn’t so lucky.

Gwen, Sally, Betty, and Ned change into dry clothes and join Peter and Shuri on the patio where they’re having in a heated and intellectual debate.

“You’re trying to tell me that _‘Hi, my name is Trey, and I have a basketball game to tomorrow’_ is funnier than _‘Can I please get a waffle?’_ Are you crazy, man?” Shuri squeals like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, and Peter shakes his finger disapprovingly.

“You’re one to talk when you think _‘What are those?!’_ is still relevant.”

“It’s a classic! Queens, your opinion is invalid anyway because you think _‘What the fuck is up, Kyle?!’_ is still funny when it was played out, like, a year ago.”

“Now _that’s_ a classic! We don’t know what Kyle did, but we know he needs to step the fuck up!”

“I agree with Peter,” Gwen interjects.

Sally groans and points to Shuri. “Shuri is right on this one. _‘What the fuck is up, Kyle?!’_ is played out, but you know what a really good one is?” She shakes Ned’s shoulder hurriedly while saying “Ms. Keisha. Ms. Keisha? Ms. Keisha!”

“Oh my fuckin’ god, she fuckin’ dead,” Ned finishes and the table erupts with laughter.

They all go back and forth with quoting vines and referencing other popular memes for a while when Peter gets a craving for more cake. The cake is large enough for Peter to indulge in a second slice after everyone else is served, so he excuses himself from the table to go inside and get a clean plate.

What he doesn’t count on when he shuts the screen door behind him is seeing Steve and Tony standing barely a foot apart in the hallway in the midst of a heated exchange, with Bucky and Natasha on either side of them. They are positioned in a way that keeps Peter’s parents from physically going at it.

Surely, Peter isn’t seeing this right.

Tony isn’t actually here, and he’s just had too much sugar, so he’s hallucinating. Peter blinks hard and when he opens his eyes, his parents are still there with Bucky and Natasha separating them.

“Is this your way of outdoing me?” Steve’s growling tensely. “We’ve discussed this, Tony, and this isn’t what we agreed on—”

“Discussed it as a _married_ couple, and we’re no longer together, remember? So I feel like that agreement is null and void.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to go behind my back for _our_ kid! Especially if he’s staying with _me_.” Steve points to himself, red in the face at how calm Tony is pretending to be. “This is the kind of shit we need to talk about as parents, regardless of whether we’re together or not.”

“Um,” Peter hums, fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

The four of them look over at him. Steve is furious, but Tony is absolutely chuffed with himself. Natasha and Bucky are sharing a secret look.

“There’s the birthday boy!” Tony yells and brushes past Steve and his friend to place a loud kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Did you come all the way up here to see me?”

Tony nods. “Of course, I did! Do I look like the kinda man who’d skip out on his child’s birthday? Actually, don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“Wow, Pop, that’s amazing. I’ve missed you a lot!”

“Life has been hell not having you at home. As soon as this work stuff blows over, you’ll be back in Queens before you know it, and you can go back to eating actual food rather than hunting for it out here—”

“Stark,” Bucky interrupts, but Tony ignores him.

“That is if your Dad would allow me to have you back.”

“I’m sure he would,” Steve sneers, arms crossed over his chest.

“Not in front of Peter, Steve,” Natasha warns, but he ignores her as well.

“If your Pop is willing to let you to come back to your own home. Right, Tony?”

The daggers shot Steve’s way under Tony’s designer frame sunglasses is lethal. “Right,” he agrees tensely, and points to the front door. “Speaking of home, I brought a little something with me just for you, Petey.”

“Tony,” Steve barks and shakes his head. “ _Don’t_. Just take it back and follow through with what we agreed with.”

“Take what back?” Peter inquires, curious and impatient now. “What is it?”

“Oh, I’ll show you!” Tony says despite Steve’s efforts to get him to listen. Tony leads Peter to the front door and the rest of them follow.

All his life, Peter has been used to Tony complying with everything Steve said. Watching his Pop openly defy Steve is something that he never thought he’d see in this lifetime, even when Steve is glaring at Tony the way he is right now.

Out on the gravel lawn, a brand new black Rolls Royce Phantom sits prettily next to the orange Audi that Peter recognizes as Tony’s. The paint on both cars practically glisten and shine even under the low light of the setting sun, and the shot looks like something out of a commercial.

“Uh—” Peter points to the black car, and Tony nods.

“Yeah, Petey, it’s all yours. Happy seventeenth!” Tony pulls a car key and remote out of his pocket and tosses the set to Peter. “Have at it, kid.”

Peter looks at the keys in his hand, then whips his head up to Tony, back to the keys, and then at his Dad’s grimace. Natasha looks indifferent, but her annoyance lies in a twitch of her green eyes. Bucky is glaring between Steve and Tony.

“It’s mine?” Peter clutches the keys. “Like, to keep? It’s mine? My car? My own car?” He feels like he needs to keep asking just to be sure this is real.

“Yeah, it’s all yours.”

“Oh my god,” Peter gasps and stares at the car for a minute so that it doesn’t disappear before shouting out “Oh my god! This is the best gift ever, Pop! Oh my god! _Shitshitshit_! This is the greatest birthday I’ve ever had! Ned, Ned, Ned!”

Peter runs around the house to the backyard, arms flying all about and halfway out of breath when he reaches his friends.

“You guys have gotta see what my Pop got me!” he yells, doing a funny dance as he beckons everyone to the front. “C’mon, let’s go! Come see, oh my god!”

Gwen is the first to pop out of her seat and follow Peter back through the house and outside. All at once, each of his friends filter to the front lawn and gasp aloud at the beauty of the Phantom.

“This is yours?” Betty asks incredulously, eyes wide with shock as the group crowds the vehicle. “Peter, this model isn’t even out yet!”

“I know right? It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” Sally agrees, peeking inside the tinted windows to see the interior.

Ned nudges Peter’s elbow. “Okay, dude, how the hell did your Dad manage to hide this until today?”

Peter shakes his head. “My Dad didn’t get me this.”

As though he feels himself being beckoned, Tony appears by Peter’s side and puts an arm around his shoulder.

“She’s a beauty, huh? Picked her out myself, and by God, my own taste never ceases to amaze me,” Tony praises himself then turns to poke Ned. “Hey, Ned!”

“Hi, Mr. Stark! Nice car!”

“Isn’t she?”

“You shouldn’t refer to cars as women, Tony,” Natasha advises, suddenly by Tony’s side as she watches almost disapprovingly Sally, Shuri, Betty, and Gwen fawn over the car. “It’s highly insulting.”

“You didn’t have a problem when Clint named his boat after you.”

“I’ve broken his nose about that already,” she smirks and links her arm around Tony’s. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

Tony isn’t dumb enough to say no, so he complies and follows wherever Natasha takes him. Peter watches them stroll off to the dock then checks behind him to see that Bucky and Steve have gone back inside the house.

_What is going on?_

The high of getting the new car comes down only fifteen seconds later when Peter grows suspicious and hands the keys to Ned. If he what he thinks is happening is actually happening, it’s really going to put a damper on the rest of the barbecue.

“Be right back,” he barely mumbles and retreats into the house.   

Just as he predicted, he steps right into a less than conspicuous argument coming from the kitchen between Bucky and Steve. He’s getting really tired of eavesdropping on this shit, but he is nosy by nature so he holds his breath and listens closely.

“The kid can’t drive, Steve. Does he even have a permit? Who’s teaching him how to drive in that shit? You’re asking for an accident.”

“Bucky, I get that.”

“Then why are you backing down?”

Steve lets out an exasperated grumble. “I’m not backing down. You saw how happy Peter was when he saw that thing, and you expect me to just rip that away from him ‘cus I’m stuck in a never ending cock measuring contest with my husband?”

“ _Ex-husband_ ,” Bucky corrects. “Remember that. It may not be official, but he’s your ex. You don’t owe his ass anything anymore.”

Peter vaguely remembers something or another about Tony holding finances over Steve's head in a previous fight he listened in on. He might as well make a living out of being a spy at this point.

“I’m not saying I do. It’s just—” Steve takes a moment to think. “Maybe, _just maybe_ , Tony is right. I mean it’s a nicer ride than what we talked about getting him.”

“Okay, but it’s not practical,” Bucky huffs. “Why do you always back down when it comes to him? I swear, he bats those big, brown puppy dog eyes at you and you take his side.”

“I’m not backing down,” Steve repeats. “This isn’t about taking sides. I’m just trying to keep things at peace with the father of my child when he shows up outta nowhere for his kid’s birthday.”

“Keeping peace doesn't mean you should compromise on a predetermined decision you guys made when you were together,” Bucky insists. “And letting Tony waltz into _your_ house and get his way with the child _you_ _both_ share sounds like backing down to me.”

Peter considers this. It’s weird hearing Bucky say Tony’s name and not “Stark” or “your father.”

“Bucky, this is the most effort Tony has made to even contact Peter since he sent him up here. I think he’s just feeling guilty.”

“And this doesn’t concern you?” Bucky’s voice hitches drastically. “You don’t think that maybe he’s only here to buy Peter’s affection ‘cus he knows he fucked up? Are you still so much up his ass that you can’t tell that he came here to rub it in your face?”

“Not everything Tony does is malicious—”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky scoffs mockingly. “You know him just like I do, and you know there ain’t a sincere bone in his body. This is the same man who threw his son out of his own house and doesn’t even have the balls to check up on him regularly.”

That stings Peter to the core. That’s the reality of the situation: Tony did throw Peter out without explanation and shows up here without so much as an apology.

However, it’s not Bucky’s right to say so.

Tears sting Peter’s eyes sharply and abruptly, blurring his vision. With all composure lost, he stomps to the kitchen and unabashedly points an accusing finger at Bucky.

“Why don’t you just mind your business?!” he yells, catching both men—and maybe himself—off guard.

Bucky scrunches his eyebrows at the teen. Steve puts a hand between them, but it doesn’t stop Bucky from responding.

“Excuse me? _My_ business?”

“Buck, don’t,” Steve warns, putting a calming hand on his wrist.

“Yes! _Your_ business! You don’t know anything about us, so stick to talking about what you know!”

“Peter, please.” Steve reaches for Peter’s wrist too, but the boy jerks away.

“I know what I’m talking about, kid,” Bucky tells him calmly, which pisses Peter off even more. “I’ve been part of the family longer than you think.”

“ _Bucky._ ”

Peter takes a daring step forward as if to challenge the older man. “You’re just my Dad’s boyfriend. That’s it.”

“Won’t just be the boyfriend for long.”

Steve rolls his eyes back and inserts himself between the two of them. “Can you both, please—”

“Dad, I’m going home with Pop if he stays here,” Peter blurts, refusing to break eye contact with Bucky. This man needs to know Peter means it. “I shouldn’t have to stay where I’m not wanted.”

“Then you really think going home with Stark will fix that?”

_Ouch._

Peter furrows his brows. “Fuck you.”

Steve’s eyes go comically wide as he turns to gape at his son. “ _Peter._ ”

“Nah, let the kid get it off his chest, Steve,” Bucky protests, arms crossed as he stares at the ground. “It was bound to come out at some point.”

“Can both of you just stop? It’s my birthday!” Steve pleads and meets Bucky’s gaze. “You’re an adult, you know that, right? You’re fighting with a sixteen-year-old, for Christ’s sake!”

“Dad, would you quit treating me like a child—” Peter starts, but he wants to retract his statement as quickly as he said it when Steve shifts his concerns onto him.

“And you! I don’t know if you knew this, but you _are_ a child. _My_ child, actually! I am allowed to be worried about you, so if you’d spare me the attitude, I’d appreciate it!”

Peter grimaces. “Okay, Dad. I-I-I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” Steve runs a hand over his face and leans back onto the counter. “Can we just please have a normal day? Can I enjoy the rest of my birthday, and you two can battle it out later? I’ve already got enough on my hands about this damn car thing and your father.”

Bucky shakes his head.  “I’m sorry, babe. This is your day, and I went and ruined it.”

Steve bites his bottom lip when he glances over at his apologetic boyfriend. “It’s alright, Buck,” he says with that lovesick look in his eyes that he used to get when he’d watch Tony.  

Peter refuses to witness it, so he barges out of the kitchen as quickly as he entered and takes the stairs two at a time. Tears have bundled in his eyes again, and he doesn’t want anyone else to see him break down this way.

Once he reaches his room, he slams the door shut and presses his forehead to the back of it.

Fat tears burst from his eyes and roll down his cheeks, dripping off his chin and onto his sweater. He tries to silence his sobs, but the pain of it all wears down on him heavily.

How is it that this began as one of the best days of his life? Everything got so messy, so quickly.

He hates Bucky. He hates Bucky for existing and meeting Steve when they were teenagers. A deep rooted part of Peter hates Steve for falling in love with someone like Bucky. That same part of Peter just might hate Tony, too.

Peter covers his face and whimpers. _This shit sucks._

“Well, this is weird.”

Peter jumps and swirls around to the sound of the voice behind him. There on his bed, with a book in her lap, sits Michelle, and strangely enough, it’s not the most exciting thing Peter’s experienced today.

“What the hell?” he sniffles and wipes his face hastily. “What are you doing in my room? How did you—”

“Your insanely attractive godmother let me in about two hours ago. I got bored pretty quickly, so I came up here. You and Ned are slobs, by the way.”

“We would’ve cleaned up had we known you would’ve taken refuge up here,” he replies sarcastically. “Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack. You didn’t even announce yourself.”

“So you could cry in peace?” she guesses without even looking up from her page.

Peter blushes. “Look, that was just, uh—“

“It’s very healthy for boys your age and younger to cry and express feelings, or else you become emotionally suppressed.” She flips a page. “By all means, cry it out.”

“No, I think I’m done,” he tells her and sits on the edge of the bed. “Just a bad day, that’s all.”

“You get them often.”

It’s an observation more than it is a question.

“I mean it hasn’t been the summer of a lifetime, if that’s what you mean. Just a lot happening right now, ya know?”

Michelle turns another page. “It’s like that sometimes.”

Peter falls onto the mattress with a bounce. “Sometimes I wish it could just go back to how it used to be. My parents, home life… just everything.”

“You don't think it’s the slightest bit selfish to want your parents to go back to being in a loveless marriage just to make you happy? Kinda messed up, if you ask me.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask,” Peter snaps. He covers his face in shame. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. That was mean.”

She snorts. “I have no feelings for you to hurt.”

“How did you even know about my parents anyway?” he wonders, flipping onto his stomach.

She finally looks up from her book. “I did my research.”

Peter frowns. “What does that mean?”

Michelle smirks and dog-ears her page before shutting her book. “It means just what I said,” she says and gets off the bed. “And what I mean by that is that it’s really hard to be Tony Stark and not have half of your business plastered on business and gossip blogs.”

Years ago, Steve and Tony forbade Peter to ever read or seek out blogs and gossip columns. With Tony having a certain appeal of celebrity in his line of work, it is difficult to not have someone or sometimes everyone invade on one’s personal life.

Peter sits back up. “How did you know Tony Stark is my father? I didn’t tell anyone that.”

Michelle shrugs again and slides her sandals back on. “I did my research. Now stop asking questions, be a good party host, and cut me a slice of cake.”

 

Sparks of every color light up the evening sky and reflect in the lake when Sam, Clint, Becca, and Ned let them off overhead. They’re loud and distracting, but Peter can’t seem to focus on them with everything going through his mind right now.

Although she doesn’t like showing it, Michelle exudes a bit of sympathy by staying by Peter’s side as they watch the show from the edge of the dock. Their legs dangle, toes merely dipping in the water, and every now and then their feet and calves will brush against the other’s.

Despite his mood, Peter can appreciate how happy and carefree his family and friends look enjoying each other's company and the fireworks.

Surprisingly enough, Tony is standing beside Steve, actually laughing and getting along the way two people who share a child should. Bucky is lazily slow dancing with Natasha, Mama Barnes and Peggy are deep in conversation, Sam and Clint chase each other with fireworks like children, and Shuri is laid out on the grass with Gwen, Sally, and Betty.

Peter sighs. _This isn’t so bad._

 

Mama Barnes and Becca are the first to leave. Soon after, Peggy goes, but not before reminding Peter of his next shift. Shuri leaves before Sam, thanking Peter for the invite when she does.  

“Thanks for inviting me,” Gwen says to Peter shyly as he, Ned, and Michelle walk the three girls to Gwen’s Jeep parked in the front lawn.

“Thanks for coming. Glad you guys had fun.”

“It was lit!” Betty cheers and points a finger at Peter. “When were you going to tell us that _the Tony Stark_ is your father?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Should’ve known, too! You look just like him!”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Gwen unlocks the Jeep and leans upright on the driver’s side door. “Well, it’s been a day. Happy birthday again if I don’t see you on the seventh.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at work.”

“It was nice meeting you guys!” Ned tells them, waving happily and they wave back, saying their goodnight and goodbyes as they get in the Jeep.

Even with that, Gwen doesn’t move. Peter isn’t sure if he should walk away now or if he missed something. Even Michelle appears skeptical.

“Well, um, I guess—”

His words get caught up in an unexpected press of Gwen’s lips to his, and his first instinct is to pull away. He doesn’t, but instead closes his eyes and counts the seconds before it’s over.

The rest of the world goes uncomfortably silent the way it would in an awkward moment on TV, and Peter counts five seconds before Gwen retracts her lips.

Giddy with herself and redder than a tomato, Gwen opens her door and waves. “I guess I’ll see you later, Peter!”

“Um, bye?”

It takes Gwen approximately five minutes to reverse and pull off down the dirt road, three of which were used smiling at him out her window and trying to look cute driving.  

When her Jeep is completely out of sight and he’s certain that it’s safe to speak, Peter refers to Michelle and Ned. “I’m not crazy, am I? She just did that, right?”

Ned is at a loss for words but he’s still grinning about having just witnessed that.  

Michelle looks as bored as she always does, but she wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t have something to say about it.

“She’s so weird.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “Maybe she does have a crush on me.”

“And you’re so stupid,” she adds, not missing a beat which makes Ned guffaw loud enough to shake the trees and ripple the lake.

  
\--

Once all the guests have gone home and the backyard is clean, Peter and Ned haul all of his presents up to his room and open them.

“I wonder what it’s like to be an only child,” Ned sighs as he pulls out an Adidas shoe box from Peggy’s gift bag.  

“You are an only child,” Peter reminds him.

“Yeah, but, like, I wish my parents knew more rich white people so I could get gifts like this.”

Peter tosses another heartfelt card in the pile of cards on the dresser. “In the time we don’t spend complaining about immigrants taking good ol’ American jobs we weren’t gonna apply for anyway,” Peter declares sarcastically, “we usually give good gifts.” This makes Ned snort.

Of all the gifts his family and friends got him, Peter likes the _Game of Thrones_ protective phone case Shuri got him the most. The organic face cleanser and moisturizer set for dry-to-combination skin from Michelle makes Peter chuckle to himself.

Ned showers after Peter, leaving him in his room by himself to discard all the wrappers and gift bags scattered across the carpet. In the midst of putting everything into a giant garbage bag, he notices there’s one red glittery gift bag left on the windowsill that certainly wasn’t with the rest of the gifts downstairs.

He doesn’t remember having it in his hand or Ned’s when they brought them up.

It must be something from his Dad.

But why would he get Peter something today, on _his_ birthday?

After Peter finishes cleaning the wrapping paper, he settles under the comforter with the gift in his lap and searches for a card first. It’s in a white envelope addressed to him in barely legible chicken scratch.

Instead of what might be a clichéd birthday card, he takes out a folded note card with a few sentences written in the same chicken scratch.

 

 

 

 

> _Peter,_
> 
> _I won’t be seeing you on your actual birthday, so I’m giving this to you now. Your Dad was telling me how much you really wanted this, but I didn’t know what size you were, so I just got a medium. I’ll see you when I can._
> 
> _Happy birthday, kid._
> 
> _\- Escaped Convict_
> 
>  

He reads the letter over and over until he damn near memorizes it.

 _Shit_.

“Oh, no,” Peter whines when he reaches into the bag and pulls out a neatly folded shirt wrapped in white tissue paper. He unravels it and is a second away from bursting into tears again when he recognizes the red and white Vitruvian pizza design on the front.

He showed this t-shirt to Steve maybe a month ago when he first arrived here, and honestly, he didn’t even think Steve was listening.

But apparently he was.

As was Bucky.

An enormous wave of guilt wipes over Peter in heavy doses, and his shoulders cannot bear the weight of how tremendously he has fucked this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, my Becca Barnes is portrayed by the likes of [Alexandra Daddario](https://goo.gl/images/bXisvx). It’s the eyes that do it for me, really. All other characters are as portrayed in the MCU. 
> 
> Also, in case anyone needed a visual for [the shirt Bucky got Peter. ](https://www.google.com/amp/mcufashion.tumblr.com/post/144461645381/who-tom-holland-as-peter-parker-what-snorgtees/amp?source=images)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to start a discourse, but HalcyonSeasons is the best beta of all time, but go off I guess.

Despite all the craziness that occurred yesterday, Peter considers it a win that he wakes up feeling only like one tenth of the jackass he was being.

It could have been worse.

Aside from ruining his Dad’s birthday, telling Bucky to essentially go fuck himself, allowing Gwen to think they’re anything more than just friends, and being painfully reminded of the divorce, it definitely could have been worse.

On the upside, he got to see his family, Ned made some friends, and he now has a lot of cool new gifts.

Even all that good can’t outweigh the bad—at least, right now it can’t.

Instead of one of his many pillows cushioning Peter’s head, he awakes atop Ned’s chest of all places. It’s soft enough to pass for a pillow and he’s much too tired to freak out about it. He keeps his head there and listens to each snore and grunt Ned has to offer in his slumbered state.

  
  


“Peter?” Ned grumbles a while later, glancing down in confusion at his half-asleep best friend.

“Hmm?” he hums.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay.”

  
\--  


Even after the awkward exchange Gwen inflicted on Peter the day before, he and Ned still agree to hang out with her and her friends. Peter certainly isn’t holding it against her, but he’d prefer if she didn’t do whatever it is she did yesterday again today or at any other point in their interactions.

Betty texts Peter that they’ll be there at two that afternoon, leaving plenty of time for Peter to do a load of laundry. As he carries his basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room, he passes Steve’s workshop office. Since he’s been hiding in his room all morning—too ashamed to face his Dad—Peter hasn’t seen Steve yet.

He’s probably furious with Peter.

Peter starts a cycle and peeks his head into the office to see what his Dad is doing. The man is still in his flannel pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers while he scrolls on his iPad at his cluttered desk.

“Mornin’,” Peter mumbles, entering the office timidly with his arms locked behind his back the way he used to when he would get in trouble as a kid.

Well, according to Steve, he’s still that kid.

Steve lifts his head to turn and face Peter. “Oh, hey, buddy. Doing laundry?”

“Um, yeah,” he says quietly. “Are you working? I’m sorry if I disturbed you or anything.”

“Just checking emails.” Steve narrows his gaze at him. “What’s up?”

Peter hikes his shoulders up nervously. “Nothing. Just wanted to say hi before Ned and I go, uh, out with the girls.”

Steve nods. “Sounds like fun.”

An empty thirty seconds of silence pass by, and in that time Peter tries to come up with something to say. Should he even address yesterday or let it be in the past? The tension has definitely carried over into today, and Peter can’t help feeling like it’s all his fault.

Maybe it is.

“I’m sorry I messed up your birthday, Dad,” Peter apologizes when he finds the words. “I really shouldn't have freaked out like the way I did.”

“You didn’t ruin my birthday, Peter.”

Peter heaves a mental sigh of relief even though Steve looks like he has more to say.

“What happened with your Pop showing up here isn’t anything you could’ve controlled. I just wish we all would’ve handled it better. No one is at fault here, son.”

“Does Bucky actively hate my guts even more now?”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that he does in the first place from, but no, he doesn’t,” Steve replies, crossing his arms. “I think you two should have a talk.”

“Alone?” Peter winces. “H-how do I do that? He’s, like, he’s—”

“A normal person just like you and I,” Steve finishes, sighing resignedly. “Peter, I’m not asking you guys to be best friends, but this tiptoeing around each other nonsense isn’t healthy. Clearly, you have a lot of pent-up feelings about our situation that I want you to get out—”

“You gonna tell me I can always come talk to you?”

“No, actually. I think you should talk to someone who has an outsider perspective.”

_Sam._

“Look, I get it. Nobody is supposed to like their parent’s new partner fresh from learning of a divorce. It’s a messy situation, and you have every right to hate me for what’s going on.” Steve hangs his head and shakes it lightly. “But I’m begging you, Peter. _Don’t_ take it out on him. _Don’t_ hate him.”

Peter doesn’t see himself ever hating Steve. Is it possible to hate someone like Steve? Tony probably doesn’t even hate Steve.

“Okay, Dad,” Peter says, nodding. “Um, where is he now?”

“He’s gonna be out of town until Saturday for work.”

 _Great. Just when I wanted to talk to him._  

“Oh, alright.” Peter unties his arms from behind his back to rub his elbow. “Um, also, I just wanna let you know that I didn’t mean it when I said I would go back to Queens. With Pop. That was a dumb thing to say. Didn’t make much sense either.”

Steve shrugs. “We say a lot of things we don’t mean when we’re mad,” he reasons. “I’m not taking it personally. Tony tends to have that effect on people.”

“I guess I can see why you guys are splitting up, then.”

Much to both of their surprise, Steve chuckles.

“That among other things. To be fair, watching you and Buck go at it reminded me of how he and I used to fight when we were your age. He’s a master button pusher, just like Tony.”

“Seems you have a type, then.”

“Seems that I do,” Steve agrees with a soft sideways smile. “I suppose I like someone who can be just as big of an asshole as me.”

Peter can’t imagine Steve as an asshole either. “For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you or Bucky. Not like I thought I did, anyway.”

Steve looks to the ground thoughtfully for a moment and then blinks up at Peter. “I think he’d really appreciate hearing that.”  

  
  


As planned, Gwen’s Jeep pulls up along the dirt road at approximately two in the afternoon. Betty suggested they go on a hiking trail, which is fine by Peter and Ned so long as they get to eat afterwards.

In between the green mountains and vast terrain of wildlife, glorious waterfalls rush into lakes and rivers. The aroma of the outdoors can best be described as a literal breath of fresh air, and the four of them find beauty in everything they see. Peter takes his phone out to take pictures and videos for later because the view isn’t something they’ll ever get in Queens.

It’s a very romantic and mystical walk.

About two hours after finishing the trail, they shop around Ithaca Commons and eat a late lunch at a nearby café. Ned is having more fun than Peter since all he can focus on is ignoring Gwen’s awkward advances and pushing away the thoughts of Bucky and his parents. To be honest, he doesn’t notice his attention is so divided until it’s almost nine at night and Gwen is parking in his driveway.

So to avoid another incident like before, Peter rushes out a quick thank you, dragging Ned to the front door by his shirt sleeve as his friend waves the car goodbye. Before Gwen can process anything, Peter and Ned are in the house.

If that’s doesn’t scream “We’re just friends!” then what else will?

Steve made sure to prepare extra chicken Alfredo for Peter and Ned when they get home. The two boys take the leftovers and Gwen’s cupcakes to the den and watch whatever late night cartoon that’s on.

With it being Ned’s last night in town, a sense of urgency to tell him a fragment of what is going on eats away at Peter as they lay together on the plush sofa. There are just some things he doesn’t want to say over the phone…

“I think I might be gay,” he announces.

… _And that is one of them._

Ned stops mid-chew and turns to his best friend with a perplexed stare. “Okay,” he finally says after giving Peter a brief once over.

“Not like exclusively gay ‘cus I still like girls, ya know?” Peter explains. “Like, I think I like both.”

“Bisexual,” Ned offers.

“Yeah!”

“Like your Dad.”

“Exactly.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Ned snickers and bumps Peter’s shoulder with his own. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

He knows he should tell Ned what happened at Shuri’s party, but the need to keep that experience for just himself and his fantasies is strong.

Peter shakes his head. “I was, uh, it just occurred to me one day. I mean, boys are…” He trails off, imaging bits and flashes of what he can remember of that boy. “You ever seen a boy and just wanted to know, like, what it’d be like to be with them? Like, think about it. Just being with them. Feels like it could be the most natural thing ever.”

Ned appears to really think about that. Peter paints a sweet picture.

“It does, huh? I never really thought about it actually.”

After coming to the conclusion that Peter is attracted to the same sex, it opened up the floodgates of options available to him. Being with a boy meant holding his hand, running fingers through his hair, wrapping an arm around his waist, and even kissing a boy on his lips.

Peter can marry and raise children with a boy, should the time come.  

Even with all that, his mind goes right back to the same person. The last thing Peter would want is to fool himself into believing he’s only attracted to the boy from Shuri’s party, but it’s a challenge not to think about him whenever the topic of his sexuality is brought up.

Peter’s cheeks flush red. “I haven’t told my Dad yet.”

“You haven’t?” Ned asks incredulously. “Why?”

“I don’t know what to say. Besides, I don’t even know if I wanna tell him just yet. With everything going on with him and Pop, I just…” Peter exhales and drops his head over the back of the sofa. “It’s a lot and I’m not even sure for myself. It’s just something I’ve been feeling, and I had to tell someone.”

“I appreciate you telling me, man.” Ned stuffs another cupcake in his mouth. “I don’t know if you were expecting some big speech about how I accept you and all that, but you’re still the same old weirdo to me.”

“Just gayer,” Peter adds.

“Just gayer.”

Peter and Ned fall asleep on the den sofa with _American Dad_ playing on the television, and wake up at the crack of dawn to the clank and bustle of Steve cooking breakfast the next room over. The boys trudge into the kitchen with the waft of toast and bacon to guide them and Steve’s stunning smile to greet them.

“G’morning, boys!” he exclaims with a wave. “How did you sleep?”

“You’re yelling,” Peter groans on his way to the stairs.

“Just making sure you guys hear me!” Steve calls sarcastically, waving his spatula around. “Ned’s bus leaves in four hours, so make sure you guys get his stuff together.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark. Rogers. Stark Rogers,” Ned mumbles sleepily, following Peter upstairs.

Despite Steve’s instructions, they snuggle back up in bed and yawn up at the ceiling.

The three of them eat breakfast out on the patio and immediately after, Peter and Ned clean the kitchen and pack his suitcase. Soon enough, eleven o’clock rolls around and it’s time to take Ned to the bus station.

“Thank you so much to getting me up here, Mr. Rogers,” Ned says gratefully when they get there. The bus is just arriving when they pull into a parking space.

“It’s always a pleasure having you, Ned. You’re welcome back anytime,” Steve replies, killing the engine. “You guys have everything?”

“Yeah, we do.”

Peter hops out the backseat and grabs Ned’s duffel from the back of the truck so he can walk him to the bus. Riders unload while a crew member does a quick in-between clean and the driver checks maintenance.

“Remember me on the other side, buddy,” Peter jokes, hugging Ned close and patting his back. “Don’t know if I’ll survive the storm without you.”

“Okay, wow, dramatic. You’re already perpetuating gay stereotypes, huh?”

“Shut up, man,” Peter scoffs in mock annoyance. “Cut me some slack here—I’m just getting used to this.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ned squeezes and lets Peter go. “Don’t get yourself punched out by any prison goths.”

“I’ll try.” Peter grins and initiates their secret handshake that comes like breathing to them. “Call me when you get home, alright?”

Ned backs away with a bittersweet smile. “I’ll see you!”

“Bye!”

Peter stays in one spot as he watches Ned get on the bus and find his seat through the window. They wave at each other like maniacs until the bus departs, making the distance between them longer and longer until it’s completely out of sight.

Peter sighs and quirks his mouth to the side. He misses him already, and he has to will himself not to tear up a little.

“I’ve got some stuff I need to get from town,” Steve announces when Peter gets back in the truck. “Should only take a few hours.”

Peter gulps back the lump forming in his throat. “Okay,” he croaks, facing the window so to avoid his Dad seeing him get emotional. For a moment, Peter thinks about what Michelle said the other day about boys crying, and the mask doesn’t last much longer.

“You guys have always been like that,” Steve tells him, placing a warm, gentle hand to the back of Peter’s neck and rubbing away the tension. “Bet you probably don’t remember how you guys used to get when Mrs. Leeds would come pick Ned up from a play date.”

Peter sniffles and wipes away a tear. “No.”

“Gosh, Peter, we thought you guys’ lungs would collapse with how much you’d cry and scream. You would throw an absolute fit even if you guys were gonna see each other the next day.”

Peter chuckles as he imagines it. “That’s dramatic.”

Steve places his hand back on the steering wheel. “For a while, Pop and I thought you two were in love, and maybe in a way, you are.”

“I’d marry Ned,” Peter says in all seriousness. They would spend their honeymoon playing video games and and name their children after _Star Wars_ characters. All in all, it’d be a great time.

“Well, if you can’t marry your best friend, then who can you marry?”

Peter wipes his face with the back of his hand and faces forward now. “Was Pop ever your best friend?”

A faint smile ghosts over Steve’s lips before it disappears. “At one point in time, yeah, he was. Deep down, despite all of what’s happening, he still is.”

“You guys plan on being friends even after everything is, like, finalized and stuff?”

Steve nods. “I may not be _in_ love with him anymore, but I do love him as a friend and my child’s father. We have too much history to just not talk to one another.”

“Even if Bucky doesn’t like him?”

“He understands how much Tony means to us,” Steve admits. “Bucky endures a lot for me.”

Peter grimaces when he remembers his behavior. “He sure does.”  
  
  


Once they reach town, Steve goes grocery shopping for what he calls a “special dinner” between he and Bucky. Peter doesn’t ask for details, so Steve doesn’t give any.

They stop by Ithaca Commons where Steve gets his natural skin care treatments and lotions from the local organic farmers, art supplies for his next piece, and a book or two for fun.

At the tail end of the visit, Steve drives about ten miles from the shopping center to a quaint strip mall. He parks in front of a store with the name Buchanan General and Hardware lit up in white cursive on the front of the building and kills the engine.

“Bucky is short for Buchanan, by the way,” Steve tells Peter when he reads the sign above. “I just need to grab some things for him and then we’ll be on our way home. You can stay in the truck if you’d like.”

“I’ll go in.” Peter unbuckles his seatbelt. As disconnected from Bucky as he is, he’s curious to see how his business runs.

Upon entering the establishment, a burly man—with the most ridiculously thick and orange handlebar mustache Peter has ever seen—throws his hands up at the sight of Steve and comes from around the cash wooden cash wrap to greet him.

“Steve-o!” he announces with a wide and goofy smile, hands buried in the black apron with the store’s minimalist logo on the front.

“Nice to see you, too, Dugan.” Steve returns the smile, pats his shoulder, and nods his head towards Peter. “I don’t think you’ve met my son, Peter. Peter, this is Dugan.”

“That’s manager Dugan,” he corrects and stretches his hand forward for Peter to shake. “Pleasure to finally meet’cha, boy!”

“Nice to meet you, too, sir,” Peter murmurs, shaking the man’s hand with a firm grip.

“What’s going on with you the two of ya today?”

“Buck wanted me to pick up some things from his office, and he said you have the key,” Steve answers and puts his hand out. “Hear he’s looking to fire a certain general manager with a very distinct mustache.”

Dugan pulls a single key on a wrist coil from his apron pocket. “Oh, ha-ha. We’ve got a comedian in the house.”

Steve snickers at his own joke and takes the key. “I’ll be right back,” Steve says to them both and then points around the store. “You can get something if you’d like,” he tells Peter and makes his way towards the back of the store.

Dugan waits until Steve is out of earshot before eyeing Peter inquisitively and crossing his arms.

Is this the part where he punches Peter out in Bucky’s honor?

Peter tenses and does his best to smiling at the man but it ends up looking like he’s checking his teeth for food.

“So, you’re Peter?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m, uh, P-Peter,” the boy fumbles.

“Hmph,” Dugan huffs. “Y’know you look just like—”

“Tony Stark, yeah, I know,” he finishes, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I get that a lot.”

Dugan analyzes him for a second then shakes his head. “I don’t see it.”

 _Well, that’s a first._ “Oh.”

“No, I was gonna say you look just as you do in that picture on Jamesie’s desk.”

Peter scrunches his eyebrows together. “Huh?”

Dugan points vaguely in the direction Steve had went. “The boss man has this picture of you and Steve-o when you were maybe nine or ten, just sittin’ there on his desk next to one of his mama, sister, and old man. God bless his soul.”

“A picture of me? Why?”

Dugan shrugs. “Beats me, kiddo. Maybe it has something to do with you being his best man’s son.”

Peter can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or Dugan is just thinking out loud. Either way, it puts into perspective just how much capacity Bucky has when it comes to caring about others.

A customer approaches Dugan for assistance, so he excuses himself and leaves Peter to wander around the general side of the store.

The store is set up neatly and by section with more organization than any mainstream hardware store. Every employee he sees says hello and helps customers efficiently with a friendly disposition. He has to hand it to Bucky. The place is extremely nice as far as hardware and general stores go.

Peter finds himself in the sweets section, sampling different gummies and hard candies to put into the sheer candy pouches provided. Oblivious to everything else and lost in the world of his snack options, Peter barely registers someone approaching him from the side.

“Can I help you with anything?” the employee asks, and it takes Peter a moment to be brought out of his sugary day dream.

“Oh, um, uh—yeah, I’m fine,” he stutters, turning to the voice of the employee only to have the butterflies in his stomach begin to flutter rapidly. Peter’s jaw drops and his heart races with instant recognition at the tall, brown-skinned, and gorgeous sales associate.  

“You,” Peter whispers, the night of Shuri’s party rushing back to him vividly as though he experienced it yesterday. “ _You_.”

The glow that hits Peter’s mystery lover’s face is instantaneous as soon as he too remembers their time together and recognizes Peter. “Yeah, me.” He grins and it sets Peter’s face on fire. “You?”

“Me,” Peter gulps in response, and somehow it makes sense. “Um, uh, it’s, um, nice to see you. Again. It’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” the boys agrees, putting his hands in the apron. “You look even better in daylight.”

Is this flirting? This is flirting, isn’t it? He’s flirting with Peter!

 _Shit_.

“My uncle used to date a makeup artist and she said I had yellow undertones and the sun brings out my, uh, natural glow,” Peter tells him, the burn reaching down his neck and onto his chest. “That’s how she described it, so maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”

The boy, somehow interested, nods in agreement. “She’s got a good eye, then.”

“I mean, they broke up ‘cus she owed some money to some loan sharks and my uncle just didn’t wanna deal with it,” he continues, mentally praying for any god listening to sew his mouth shut and strike him with lightning.

Why is he telling him this, and better yet, why is he actually listening? There’s so much wrong with this interaction, but Peter can’t will himself to pull out of it.

“Sounds like a smart man,” the boy adds, head cocking sideways endearingly. “How are you?”

“I’ve been okay. Uh, tomorrow's my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, then.”

“Yeah, turning seventeen. Like the dancing queen. Young and sweet,” Peter says and follows with a groan seconds after. “Why did I say that?”

“You’re a fan of ABBA?”

“I am, 'cus my aunt loves disco music, but I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Peter explains, putting a hand to his temple to soothe his oncoming headache. “I’m usually not this fidgety.”

“Gummy worms tend to make people nervous.” The boy points to the candy display with a smirk. “To be honest, I think the candy is haunted.”

Peter exhales and manages to smile too. “Yeah, you might be right.”

The boy thrusts his hand forward. “Johnny,” he introduces himself. “Welcome to Buchanan General and Hardware.”

Peter takes his hand and it’s still just as soft yet firm as that night it cupped his backside and held him close. “Peter,” he offers, ducking his head shyly.

“Peter,” Johnny repeats as if to test the name out. “Should’ve gotten your name before we did all that, huh?”

For some reason, Peter didn’t expect him to bring up that night, but he’s glad he did first. “Oh, gosh, look, I’m sorry I ran out so suddenly that night. I was just, um… yeah. It was a lot and we’d just met and all.”

Johnny’s thick eyebrows reach for his hairline. “Yeah, that was bold of me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really wanted to talk at first, but something just—” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Came over me, I guess. Again, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, it’s fine. I wasn’t, like, offended or anything. I, uh, liked it. It was fun.”

“That’s a relief. I was worried about not seeing you again to just make sure you didn’t feel pressured.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’d do it again,” he blurts and his hands automatically flies to cover his mouth.

 _Shit_. He’s really messing this up.

Johnny doesn’t take it any kind of negative way and instead laughs at Peter’s charming misfortunes. “Think we should get to know each other a little more before we get into it like that again,” he suggests.

Is he saying what Peter thinks he’s saying? “Uh, what do you mean? Like, uh, hanging out and stuff?”

“Hell yeah, hanging out and stuff,” Johnny says, observing Peter’s frame inch by inch. “As long as you can keep up.”

Peter plays along and openly admires Johnny’s bicep muscles rippling from his gray V-neck t-shirt. “I’m sure I can.”

“Oh, there you are!” Steve comes up behind Johnny, carrying a stack of papers and a laptop. “Hey, Johnny!” he greets the boy.

“Mr. Rogers.”

“I see you’ve met my son, Peter.”

“Son,” Johnny repeats, glancing between Steve and Peter and then pointing to the adult. “ _Your_ son?”

“Yeah, I thought Bucky told you he was here for the summer.”

It dawns on Peter in that moment that the boy of his dreams works under Bucky. This town is officially too small.

“He did! Just didn’t know this one was yours,” Johnny teases, punching Steve’s shoulder lightly. “But yeah, I’m very well acquainted with Peter.”

Steve doesn’t catch the quick wink Johnny gives Peter, but it makes Peter’s cheeks burn all the same.

“Well, that’s great! You should come over for dinner sometime,” Steve offers, and if anybody knows Steve, he really does mean that. “You’ve got what you want?” Steve asks Peter.

Peter holds up his candy bag. “Yeah.”

“Do _not_ eat all of that at once,” he demands and gives Johnny a quick clap on the back. “We’ll see you, Johnny. Let’s go, Peter.”

Steve already starts walking down the aisle and Peter is about to say goodbye before Johnny gets him by the wrist and pulls him inward. Peter’s close enough to just get on his toes and kiss him, but he remains calm while letting Johnny dig into his pants pocket and pull his phone out.

“You’ll need my number if you wanna hang out… and stuff.”

He holds the device out for Peter to put in in his passcode. After adding his contact information, Johnny nonchalantly slips the phone right back where he got it as if being this close doesn’t drive both him and Peter crazy.

“Text me tonight or the ghost of gummy worms passed will be standing at the foot of your bed.”

Peter nods, grinning like an absolute idiot. “I will.”

With a light air in his step and an immovable smile plastered on his face, Peter spends the remainder of the day thinking about how it started and how it’s ending.

 

 

 

Steve fixes stir fry and they eat in the living room during a _Seinfeld_ marathon. The humor is before Peter’s time, but he enjoys spending time with his Dad anyway.

When Steve goes to the basement afterwards, Peter thoroughly cleans the kitchen and retires to his bedroom. Even though he was instructed not to, Peter eats nearly half the bag of candy in one sitting.

He gets down to his last gummy worm and can’t help getting giddy. Johnny saved his contact as “Peter’s Baby Daddy” with multiple flame emojis, which does something special for the butterflies in his stomach.

Peter presses the contact and all it takes is a second of courage for him to write out a message and press send.

I _texted u therefore I shouldn’t see any life size gummy worms in the corner of my room when I wake up in the middle of sleep paralysis._

The five minutes it takes for Johnny to respond feel like the longest five minutes of Peter's life. Initially, he thinks he’s fucked up and should’ve left it at a simple hello instead of trying to be clever, but his phone vibrates soon after.

_fine! called off my army of gummy worms so u can rest easy tonite._

_That's very sweet of you!_ Peter replies. _What a nice baby daddy you are._

Peter doesn’t know where he gets the confidence to flirt back, but it comes to him just as naturally as breathing. Johnny is easy to talk to, and surprisingly enough, Peter isn’t even close to nervous the way he was the night they met.

The first thing on Peter’s mind when he awakes the following morning is Johnny and the two hours they spent texting the night before. His birthday comes second and that is only because his phone is flooded with “happy birthday” texts and notifications from his family and friends.

  
  


Because Steve is Steve and his heart is too big (even for his large frame), he’s in the kitchen as always, making his son the most festive birthday breakfast Peter has ever seen. Atop a stack of waffles, Steve spreads whipped cream, strawberry syrup, and sprinkles served with a mountain of bacon and cheesy eggs.

“Is that for me?”

“No, I was gonna feed it to the other seventeen-year-old boy I’ve got locked away in the basement,” he deadpans, sprinkling more cheese over the eggs. “Happy birthday, buddy. Table’s all set for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Peter sits at the dining room table so Steve can present his breakfast and a glass of orange juice. “I’m gonna be huge after this,” he says, surveying the meal like it would eat him before he eats it.

“Shouldn’t have made such large portions since Sam’s coming to take you out today.” Steve runs the faucet to start the dishes. “He didn’t say what time, though.”

“Is he?” Peter asks, cheeks full with food.

“Yeah, he wanted to get in some quality time before his business trip.”

That possibly leaves Shuri home alone for a few days.

“Oh, okay.” Peter takes another bite of bacon.

“Did your Pop call you yet?”

Peter pulls his phone from his pocket to check his notifications. There are messages from Peggy, Gwen, Sally, Shuri, Sam—

Peter scrolls to the bottom where the first few notifications came in and there’s a message from the Venmo app.

_You’ve got money! Tony_Stark has sent you $1,000.00._

Peter re-reads the notification another time before looking over at his Dad washing a pan. He presses it and clear as day, his Pop sent him a whole stack at midnight on the dot leaving an impersonal happy birthday message and about a million heart emojis. Any other time, he would be jumping up and down with glee at such a generous gift, but after everything that happened with Bucky, Peter can’t find the sincerity in anything Tony does for him.

“Um, yeah, he did.”  Peter puts his phone down and continues eating.   
  
  


After breakfast, Peter showers, gets dressed, and is ready to leave by one in the afternoon. Peter excitedly parts with his Dad and prepares himself for something he’s wanted since he got here: a day with Sam.

The drive into town is pleasant and the lighthearted conversation compensates for the long drive; Peter is halfway used to it by now.

Sam takes him to a steakhouse on the outskirts of town and the waiter barely gets their drink order down before Sam figuratively corners him.

“Okay, so what has really been going on with you, kid, and I don’t mean that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit you feed your Dad,” he begins, hands outstretched over the table. “Like really, what’s up? You can tell me.”

A very caught off guard Peter takes a sip of his water, but he doesn’t even have a second to decide whether to lie or not. It’s hard to lie to Sam, so it’s best not to. The look Sam pins—a look that edges on the lines of _you know you can tell me anything_ and _we’re not leaving until you tell me something—_ makes it impossible to want to lie anyway.

“Really _,_ Sam? On my birthday?”

Sam puts his arms up in surrender. “You’re almost a man now. You can handle a little third degree.”

Peter frowns. “Sam, what am I supposed to tell you that you don’t already know? You know Dad and Pop are splitting.”

“Alright, but I’m not here to figure out what their problem is. I’m talking to you, Peter Benjamin Stark.”

Peter cringes. “You really used my full name.”

“So, you know I’m serious.”

“Okay, fine. I’m not sure where to start.”

“You could start with the beginning of the summer. Your parents are splitting up and Tony sends you here,” Sam prompts. “That shit sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Peter exhales, twirling his straw around. “Only thing I can say about it is that I feel like Pop should’ve at least given me a reason, ya know? He just sent me up here and I think he said it was a work thing.”

“Do you believe him?”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe. To be honest with you, the divorce itself is still a bit of a shock.”

Sam considers this, imagining Peter’s perspective. “They did just spring it on you, and knowing their dumbasses, they haven’t told you much of anything.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I have suspicions. Assumptions,” he corrects himself. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about when it comes to my parents. One day they’re in love and the next they’re at each other’s throats. It’s weird. Like, they make it so easy to think they’re magically gonna reconcile and get back together.”

“Is that what you want?”

The question strikes him odd. “Well, I mean, like, yeah,” he admits. “I want them to work it out.”

“For your sake,” Sam clarifies.

Peter’s eyes dart downward in shame. “I don’t know.”

“What it sounds like to me is that you miss the life you had before summer started. You want what was before the divorce and the bullshit going on with your knuckle-headed parents because it was comfortable and you didn’t have to deal with anything.”

The last thing Peter expected is to get read this way.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Sam says, crossing his arms.

“You’re not,” Peter agrees. “I guess it would be pretty selfish of me to want that of them.”

“Not for nothing, you have made a solid life for yourself up here. I’m proud of you ‘cus it used to be like pulling teeth getting your shy ass to look at another kid in daycare that wasn’t Ned.”

The waiter comes by with their drinks and Peter orders the simplest thing on the menu since he barely got a chance to look it over. Right as the server walks away, Peter picks up where Sam left off.

“Dad was telling me how he kinda thinks Ned and I are in love,” Peter snickers, twirling his soda with his straw. “We’re gonna honeymoon at GameStop.”

“I’ll actually be shocked if you _don’t_ marry him,” Sam confesses jokingly with a brief chuckle. “I could see you and him being very happy together.”

“Oh, we would be. I don’t know a better guy than him.”

“If you could, you would?”

“Huh?”

“Date Ned.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly. “Uh, no, um, I can’t really say he’s my type. He’s my best friend and all, but that’d be kinda weird.”

“Your type,” Sam repeats, sipping his rum and Coke delicately. “You’ve said that before. Safe to say your type includes men, no?”

Peter doesn’t catch it when it happens, but he somehow dug himself into a deeper hole than he was in before.

“Oh, I’m—” Peter shakes his head no again, but ultimately he knows it’s best to just be open. “Like, I mean, yeah. Yeah. My type includes men. Boys.”

“Would you consider yourself bisexual?”

“I don’t wanna label myself before I know for sure, but yeah, if I had to put a name on it.” Peter cannot believe he’s having this conversation right now.

“You haven’t told your Dad?”

“Nope.”

“Tony?”

“Definitely not.”

“You’re not ashamed, are you?”

“Oh, of course not. There’s nothing to tell right now. I just know I like both, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

Sam narrows his eyes thoughtfully. The boy is so transparent, it’s painful to watch. “How long have you known?”

 _Since your niece threw that fucking party and invited the single most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my short time on this godforsaken Earth._ “Not until recently.”

“You know that if and when you’re ready to tell someone when you know for sure, I’ll be here.”

“I know, Sam. I just don’t know what to do with myself. Just a lot to take in, I think.”

“And this stuff with your parents isn’t making it any easier.”

“It’s their issue more than it is mine, but it feels like it’s my issue anyway.”

“It doesn’t have to be if you don’t let it,” Sam tells him. “Look, Peter, I know it feels like they’re expecting so much of you out of them going their own ways, but they don’t. You’re still a kid, and all you have to worry about right now is being a good person. That’s all any of us want from you.”

_A good person._

He hasn’t been a very good person to Bucky.

Their conversation over the rest of lunch isn’t as heavy, but they do discuss interesting topics like politics, pop culture, and how Sam’s family is doing. Even though Peter is full from his burger and fries and he’s had enough sweets in the last week to last him a lifetime, Sam insists they get dessert.

 

 

 

It’s almost four in the afternoon when they get back to the house. Steve is in the basement, on the phone with a potential client, so Sam and Peter relocate to the patio to continue their talk.

“How did my Dad come out?”

Sam leans back in the patio chair and smirks. “You know, come to think of it, I don't recall him ever coming out. I think he just introduced us to Tony, and we all just went with it.”

Peter jerks his head from the lake to Sam in a hurry. “Pop was Dad’s first, like, _first_?”

“From what I can remember.”

Even though Pop and Dad are all Peter has ever known, he never thought to imagine that Pop was the first of Dad’s anything. Nineteen is young, but was there really no one before Tony?

“And he just married his first boyfriend, huh? Wild.”

“If it means anything, they were a disgustingly cute couple and lasted longer than we thought.”

Peter doesn’t know if he should laugh or not, but he follows Sam’s lead and giggles along with him. The circumstances are funny in a way.

“What’s so funny?” Steve says, appearing in the screen doorway with his hands in his pocket.

“Laughing at your goofy ass,” Sam answers, making Peter laugh more.

“Don’t you have someone else’s child to bother?”

“You know what? I just might have some of my own to annoy you while I’m at work.”

“I’d love another cousin,” Peter chimes in to which Steve rolls his eyes and shoots him a harmless glare. Sam claps him on the back and suggests they get a game of poker going.

  
\--  


Without asking, that night Johnny sends Peter a handsome selfie that he saves and stares at for what seems like hours until he falls asleep.

The following morning, there’s a single good morning text that Peter tries not to overthink.   
  
\--  


If someone would’ve told Peter that he would actually end up missing Bucky Barnes at some point in his life, he would have been truly offended and called that someone a liar.

In just a matter of days, that point in his life comes.

It’s the afternoon Bucky said he’d be back, and Steve—in true Steve fashion—is in the kitchen, cooking an extravagant steak dinner for the two of them. There’s flowers, candles, soft jazz, and a gift involved, which could either mean these men are not used to being apart for longer than a day or Steve is just inherently romantic.

Peter cannot recall a time where either Steve or Tony did such a gesture of this extremity for just three days apart.

Like a moth to a flame, Peter rushes to his window at the sound of a car approaching the house and gleefully watches the car park, Bucky get out of the passenger seat, get his luggage from the trunk, and thank the driver.

Once Bucky disappears from view, Peter dashes out of his bedroom and halfway down the stairs to watch Steve practically skip to the door to let his boyfriend in. Bucky tosses his luggage to the ground and encases Steve’s cheeks between his hands to bring their lips together.

“I missed you,” Steve says in the smallest voice possible when they part, resting his hands on Bucky’s waist. “How was everything?”

“Fine now that it’s over and I get to do this.” Bucky kisses Steve’s lips, deeper this time. After taking a moment to look in Steve’s eyes, Bucky begins pecking everywhere on Steve’s face from his forehead, cheeks, chin, and jaw with loud and exaggerated butterfly kisses.

It’s a very cute moment.

Steve shuts the door behind him and takes Bucky by the hand to show him the dinner he’s cooked in the dining room, along with the lit candles and gift box.

“Oh, all for me? Stevie, honey, you shouldn’t have.” Bucky chuckles in a way that is both flattered and embarrassed. “Aren’t you just peachy?”

Peter pretends he doesn’t see Bucky cupping one of Steve’s glutes.

“Why don’t you go shower up and meet me down here, huh?” Steve suggests, kissing Bucky’s forehead.

Peter quietly scurries back up to his room, and the waiting game commences.   
  
  


Peter pretends to be distracted with watching Netflix and prepping for his shift at work tomorrow for about an hour and a half. The time not spent focusing on anything in particular is spent pacing, patting sweat from his forehead, and practicing what he’ll say to Bucky if the man doesn’t choke him out on sight.

The loud pop music blaring from the garage is Peter‍‍‍’s cue to go downstairs, so he gets his wits together and exits his bedroom with an air of positivity.

Steve is in the kitchen—as usual—washing the dishes when Peter passes by. For a millisecond, he considers asking his Dad for advice, but this is something that should be genuine from Peter’s heart and Peter’s heart alone.

Bucky, hyper-focused and hunched over a motorcycle on his workbench, doesn’t acknowledge Peter when he enters the garage. The Phantom takes up an unnecessary amount of space that makes the guilt in Peter topple over past its usual brim.

He lingers in the corner and watches Bucky do this and that with a wrench and a screwdriver for a minute, his foot tapping reluctantly to the music.

Peter clears his throat loudly and waves his hand in Bucky’s general direction until the man glances up. He doesn’t appear particularly annoyed as of yet, but he doesn’t seem amused either.

Undeterred, Peter pinches his fingers together to do a _turn down the music_ motion, and Bucky slowly complies by pressing the volume down a few notches.

Bucky wipes grease and grime from his fingers with the towel in his pocket and crosses his arms across his chest. Not even the tattoos across his large muscles, grim expression, and oddly intimidating diamond stud earrings can stop him now.

He doesn’t speak first, so he waits patiently for Peter to say something.

“Um,” Peter clears his throat again. “Hi.”

Bucky blinks. “Hi.”

“How was your trip?”

“It was fine.”

“That’s great. I’m sure it was nice to get outta here for a while, I guess. Glad you had a good time!”

Bucky stares at him, clearly letting him know without saying it that he has better things to do than listen to Peter stumble through small talk.

“Um, I also wanted to talk.”

“I’m listening.”

Peter gulps. “I wanna apologize. I didn’t mean it when I swore at you or said that you should mind your business. You’re a lot more in the know than I am about a lot of things, and I’ve been taking everything I’ve been feeling since my parents told me about the divorce out on you.”

There’s a hint of hidden appreciation in Bucky’s expression when he takes all of the teenager’s words in.

Bucky nods, uncrossing his arms to lean on the workbench. “Did your Dad tell you to say that?” he asks gruffly.

Peter shakes his head. “No.”

“Hmph,” he scoffs. “You sound just like him then.”

Neither of them say anything else for a minute. Bucky is lost in thought, trying to process the apology while Peter braces himself to get yelled at.

“I accept your apology, kid,” Bucky says, picking his wrench up to continue working on his motorcycle. “Thanks.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s it?” Peter’s eyes widen. “You don’t have anything you wanna say to me?”

“Like?”

“Like how much you hate me? Or that you’d rather you didn’t have to live with such an ungrateful brat all summer or rant about how much you hate my Pop or something!”

Bucky drops his wrench with a clank and squeezes the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Where in the fuck do you get this idea that I hate you?”

Peter mouth shuts with a pop but he opens it a second later. “I’m, I thought that—”

“Right,” Bucky interrupts, pointing at him. “You thought. You never asked.”

Peter nods, the responsibility weighing down on him enough to get him staring shyly at his feet. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You didn’t give me a fair shot from the getgo, and I get it, kid,” he reasons, shaking his head at a faint memory. “It was four hundred years ago, but I was your age once too, and I hated the fuck out of Becca’s father when my mom brought him home. Felt like she was cheating on my old man.”

Peter winces. That’s exactly how this feels.

“Never thought I’d sympathize with the bastard until I found myself in his position,” he confesses. “Only difference is that you mean something. I love your Dad with all that’s in me. As wild as that concept may seem for someone like me, loving him brings you, and fuck it, I care about you.”

The boy ganders cautiously up at Bucky, who has let his guard down completely.

“Peter, it’s not just about your Dad. I’ve known about you since your Aunt May even gave birth to you. Fuck, you should’ve seen the look on his face when the nurse first gave you to him, and I felt it. I felt that love. I’ve only ever wanted to make you and him happy. That’s all.”

Pent-up feelings creep up on Peter like a thief in the night, and his eyes begin to sting. He knows his face is hot and his shoulders are slouching in a blatant sign of emotional surrender.

“I just thought that because you came into our lives so quickly, you were the reason my parents didn’t want to be together anymore,” Peter croaks, holding in as much as he can. “I only hated you because I thought you hated me, and you didn’t care.”

Bucky exhales, running his hands through his hair and tugging lightly. “I’ve been in love with your Dad since I was thirteen years old, but I ain’t no homewrecker. That’s my truth.” He pauses and sighs with relief. “Kid, you wanted me to be the villain for this imaginary narrative of your parents’ relationship, and you got mad when I didn’t act out the script you wrote.”

The wetness in Peter’s eyes spill over like a pipe bursting and it’s sad how quickly he begins to sob.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims, and as expected, Bucky isn’t one of those rare people on Earth who knows what to do when someone begins crying in their presence.

“I’m sorry I said ‘fuck you’ and called you an escaped convict! I love the shirt and I wanna be better ‘cus you really love my Dad, and I just don’t know what to do about anything.”

Bucky fidgets uncomfortably and scratches his neck nervously. He barely knows how to handle when Steve gets into his crying fits, so how the hell is he supposed to deal with his son?

“Uh, it’s okay, kid,” Bucky tries, his hands up in the air. Peter takes the motion as an invitation to wrap his skinny arms around Bucky’s torso.

“I’m sorry, Bucky!” Peter’s speech is muffling against his chest. “I promise I’ll be better, and we can be friends! I don’t want you to leave my Dad because of me.”

Bucky awkwardly pats the top of his head. “There, there, kid,” he mumbles, fully appreciative of the gesture but confused nonetheless. “It’s gonna be alright, just please stop crying.”

Neither are sure how long Peter holds onto Bucky for, but after a few minutes, neither can deny how hopeful they feel about the upcoming future of their relationship.   
  
\--  


Over a very loud and ecstatic FaceTime call, Peter informs Ned that he and Bucky are finally on good terms. Ned is happy for the three of them, and tells Peter to send a hello their way.

As if on cue, Johnny texts Peter when he leaves work and it starts another endless night of texting.

For once, everything is looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Johnny Storm does not look like fucking Chris Evans in Fantastic Four. This Johnny Storm is portrayed by [Michael B. Jordan a la Fant4stic Four](http://www.blackfilm.com/read/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/Fruitvale-Station-LAFF-Premiere-Michael-B.-Jordan-2.jpg).


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When are y'all gonna give HalcyonSeasons (my beta) the love and adoration she deserves? Sorry for the wait but we were in the ICU because of Infinity War.

_Do u wanna go out?_

Peter stares at the message on his phone for an undetermined amount of time. Five seconds or five years could have gone by, but he can’t tell. If Johnny means what Peter thinks he means, his heart is going to thump right out of his chest and leave him unable to work the rest of his shift.

_Go out like how?_

_U know what I mean._

The suggestive smirking emoji is icing on the cake.

“Not that I care or anything, but what’s got you all smiley?” Michelle asks, snaking up beside Peter with her customers’ glass to refill it at the soda fountain.

He doesn’t recall the huge open-mouthed smile plastered on his face until he looks up from his phone and sees how relaxed Michelle is in comparison.

“Uh, it’s nothing,” Peter replies, checking his watch to see how much time is left of his break. “It’s nothing.”

“So, you usually just grin like an idiot at your phone over nothing,” Michelle clarifies, rolling her eyes at the slow descent of fizz in the glass. “Got it.”

_Sure! I’d love to go out._

_I gotta get back to work. I’ll text you when I’m home._

Peter sends the messages and puts his phone back in his pocket, giddy and exuberant at the development of his and Johnny's relationship. They’ve only been texting for a few days, and if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d think Johnny has a thing for him. Not all of their texts are flirty, but when they do get steamy, Peter finds himself blushing and burning at the face like his insides have been set on fire.

Michelle narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t smile at me.”

Peter keeps grinning. “I’m not even smiling!”

“You’re not very subtle.”

“I’m in a good mood,” he says with a shrug. “You’re just making something outta nothing.”

“I’d have to care to make something out of nothing that is clearly a something,” she objects, taking the drinks with her. She exits the kitchen with a very dignified exclamation. “Something I don’t care about!”

In between cleaning tables, Peter makes himself useful by wrapping utensils, mopping, washing dishes, and wiping the windows. Even though he has three hours of work left, he can’t find the room to complain when he has Johnny waiting to hear from him.

  


 

At four o'clock on the dot, Peter clocks out and Steve is waiting for him like usual in the parking lot.

When they arrive home, Bucky is on the couch, fast asleep and snoring like a chimney. Peter takes it upon himself to squat in front of the sleeping man, stare, and blow on his face. His breath tickles Bucky’s nose.

“Stevie, your breath smells like onion rings,” the man groans, reluctantly waking himself up.

“Huh?” Steve calls absently from the kitchen, where he has began cooking dinner.

Bucky’s eyes slowly open and roll closed with a heavy sigh when he sees Peter grinning and waving like the happy-go-lucky kid he usually is.

“Kid.”

“Hi, Bucky!”

“How was work?”

“It was alright,” he tells him, falling back to sit with his legs crossed. “How was your day?”

Bucky yawns and cracks his knuckles. “It was a day like most.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “So, it was good? Bad?”

“Let’s just say I survived it.”

“I guess that’s a good day, then,” Peter decides and stands to his feet. “You can go back to sleep now. I just wanted to say hi.”

“The kid is allowing me to go back to sleep now. What a blessing,” Bucky mutters sarcastically, adjusting himself to get comfortable again. Within minutes, he’s snoring again.

Peter keeps a wide grin on his face as he heads upstairs to strip off his uniform and text Johnny as he promised.

 _Hey I’m home_ , he says with the jazz hands emoji attached. His phone vibrates just as he slips on basketball shorts and a sweatshirt.

_Hey home...I’m Johnny._

Peter cannot help groaning at the same time a huge smile splits his face.

_Your dad jokes are worse than my actual Dad’s. You’re the worst._

_But u love it._

Peter does, but he’ll never let Johnny know that.

 _Anyway_ , Johnny types, _I recall asking if u wanted to go out._

_I recall saying yes_

_So what up with it?_ The message that follow is a row of suggestive side eye emojis.

Peter twirls in a circle, cheeks hot and flushed. There’s no way this guy is serious.

_What is up?_

_R u busy tonite?_

Aside from watching Bucky and Steve make goo-goo eyes at each other and have another movie night? Peter scoffs.

_No, I’m not doing anything._

_We going to karaoke._

Peter scratches his temple in confusion and re-reads the text over another few times.

_We?_

_U and me makes we._

This smooth motherfucker… Peter’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. There’s no way he can say no to that.

_Okay...what time?_

_Drop ur address… I’ll come get u at 7._

_I live pretty far out. Is that ok?_

_Anything to see u_

He is one hundred percent sure that Johnny is just being a sarcastic jackass, but it doesn’t stop the rapid beating of his heart. He sends his address behind a row of eye rolling emojis, already planning what he’ll wear.

Could this be considered a date? If two people going out somewhere together for fun qualifies as a date, he and Ned have been on thousands. Peter can’t recall a recent time that he wanted Ned to push him against a concrete wall and take him apart with his lips, though, so this might be something different.

It’s just the two of them, so maybe it _is_ a date—a romantic date. Should he ask? Is Johnny going to pay for his meal because he offered to take him out? Is this even supposed to be romantic? Have they even established that they are going to pursue something romantic? To be fair, they never said they’re just going to be platonic either.

“Was just about to call you down,” Steve mutters to Peter on his way to the basement for his clean clothes. “Would you guys rather have rice or mashed potatoes?”

Peter back up a few feet to stand with the two men in the kitchen.

Bucky scoffs from his spot at the dining room table, sloshing the last of the beer in its glass bottle around. “Why not both?”

“Because you’re not supposed to have two starches in one meal,” Steve answers almost impatiently, digging around in the fridge. “Any preference, Pete?”

Peter shakes his head, arms crossed and trying to hide his grin unsuccessfully. “Uh, I’m actually going out tonight, so you don’t have to worry about making me a plate.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Tell the girls I said hi.”

Any other time, Peter wouldn’t say anything so to keep his Dad out of his business, but he’s so overcome with the excitement of actually going on a date that he can’t help correcting Steve.

“Oh, it’s actually with Johnny.”

Simultaneously both of their gazes fix on the teenager like he told them he’s eloping with the other boy. A beat of silence with just both men eyeing him passes, so Peter elaborates.

“You guys know Johnny,” Peter reminds them, face heating up at the name. “He works at Bucky’s store. We’re going to dinner. As friends, of course.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve vocalizes, face focused on Peter as though staring hard enough will allow him to read his son’s mind. “How did you meet Johnny anyway?”

“He was at Shuri’s party and we just hit it off,” he explains and quickly adds on, “as friends.”

“Friends,” Bucky repeats with a smirk and finishes off his drink.

Bucky seems more amused about the news than Steve. In fact, Peter can’t get a read on his Dad at all since confliction plagues his features. Is he happy? Angry? Peter can’t tell, but at least Bucky approves.

“You know,” Steve starts, swallowing and folding his hands in front of him. “We should invite Johnny over for dinner sometime. He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, I’ll run it by him tonight, Dad,” Peter replies, unsure of what direction this conversation took.

Doesn’t Steve like Johnny? He sure seemed to that day in the store, so why is he being so weird about it now?

  
\--

The group date was easy to handle because it didn’t leave Peter alone with his thoughts enough to fuck anything up or say something stupid. Granted, he did fuck up a little and say a few stupid things with Michelle, but they developed a cute friendship out of it.

However, a date with just Peter and one other person leaves a battle between being normal and exposing his odd personality quirks. The quirks usually win.

Maybe Johnny will find them cute. Maybe he’ll realize in just a few short hours that Peter is a weirdo and never contact him again. Either way, Peter will have a story to tell Ned.

Peter puts on a pair of dark wash jeans, the sneakers Peggy got him, and a flannel over yet another one of his many dorky, science pun graphic t-shirts. The look doesn’t look like he’s going on a date, but it’s definitely not for staying around the house. Steve takes notice when his son skips with glee down the stairs with his head completely in the clouds.

Johnny’s _I’m here_ text makes Peter forget all about even saying goodbye, but he’s quickly reminded when he’s stopped right at the front door by Steve’s broad chest and Dad Look of Doom.

“Forgetting something?” he asks teasingly.

Peter thinks for a moment then wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and squeezes. “Love you, Dad! I’ll see you guys later!”

He attempts squirming passed the man but fails when Steve puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. As charmed as his Dad is by the affection, he shakes his head and taps his wrist watch.

“Home by midnight, okay?”

Peter nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles quickly and checks his phone. “I’m on seventy-one percent, I have my charger, wallet, keys, and I’ll call you if I need you and all that, so Dad can I please—?”

Steve regards him with a look before cracking a grin and stepping aside. “Have fun, Pete.”

Peter is out the door and waving goodbye before his Dad can blink. He might have yelled out something like a goodbye to Bucky, but he can’t recall because Johnny looks too good sitting on the hood of his car for him to care.

Just when Peter thinks he’s in the clear, Steve shouts out an embarrassingly loud greeting over Johnny’s music. To his mortification, Steve is eagerly waving at Johnny who waves back politely.

“Sorry, he’s such a dork,” Peter apologizes on his approach to the vehicle. If Tony taught him right, he’s sure that this is a ‘76 Aston Martin.

“Nah, I like Steve.” Johnny waves it off with a grin. “He’s good peoples,” he continues then nods towards the car. “You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get going. The ride into town is nearly an hour,” Peter warns him, getting in on the passenger side and staring at the very outdated, vintage controls.

“Well, this place isn’t that far,” Johnny assures him, getting into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition. “Should take us about twenty if we take the back roads.”

“Cool car,” Peter comments, pointing to the controls and vintage interior.

Johnny beams proudly and reverses. “Thanks. Nearly a thousand dollars and a whole lotta man hours under the hood, and this is the result. Very proud of her.”

“My godmother says referring to cars as female is a little degrading,” Peter says before he can stop himself, but instead of kicking him out in the middle of the dirt road, Johnny nods.

“Your godmother sounds like a smart woman,” he agrees and leans back in his seat. “Just feels weird calling my car an ‘it.’  We’re practically attached at the soul.”

“Oh, you’re one of those?” Peter teases, stifling a laugh.

“What?” Johnny lifts a brow.

“A grease monkey. Ya know, like, those total dudebros who do drag races and name their rides after old Hollywood starlets,” Peter says, making the deep bass of a laugh burst out of Johnny. It’s the nicest sound Peter’s ever heard.

“You almost got it,” Johnny tells him. “She’s not named after a Hollywood starlet, though.”

“What do you call her, then?”

“Torch.”

Peter nods. “That’s… interesting.”

“Well, it’s better than half the names the people who come into the shop have.”

“People bring their cars to Bucky’s store?”

Johnny shakes his head and swerves into a back road that manages to look more deserted than the rest of the town.

“My uncle owns a mechanic shop. I’m there all the other time I’m not at the hardware store.”

“You work on cars?”

Johnny nods. “Two part time jobs equal one full time one if I wanna keep my apartment.”

Peter takes all this in with deep interest. “You have your own place,” he says, fascinated.

“I wish. I live with my sister right now but I’m saving to get the hell outta here soon,” he explains. “I wanna go to the city.”

“The city isn’t all that cracked up to be. The suburbs isn’t all that either.” Peter pauses and chuckles to himself. “To be honest, I like it out here more than I do back home.”

“Really? How you figure?”

“Well, for one, it’s quieter and there’s a sense of realism out here, ya know? Being one with nature and all that junk, I think. No one seems nice on purpose. I’ve made more friends up here in a few weeks than my whole life in Queens.”

Johnny smiles as he listens. “Being ‘round here is a’ight.”

“Just alright?” Peter repeats incredulously.

“I mean the company is fine,” Johnny says with a smirk, side-eyeing Peter from his peripherals. “City boys are cuter, I guess.”

Heat pools Peter’s face, neck, and ears. As if that doesn’t kill him enough, Johnny innocently sets his hand on Peter’s thigh and taps his fingers along to the music the rest of the ride there.

So, it’s a date.

  


The karaoke bar isn’t far from the lake house, like Johnny said. It’s a small hole-in-the-wall joint with neon signs, disco balls, and comfy furniture. The seventies theme and decor read across as modern and innovative, and it’s something Peter can see Michelle or his Dad liking.

The bouncer marks both his and Johnny’s hands with a black Sharpie to indicate that they’re under twenty-one, and once they’re inside, they seat themselves in a booth near a window.

“How’d you find this place?” Peter asks, impressed by the choice of scenery.

“You find interesting places when you just drive far enough.” He then points to the stage where some poor soul is doing a terrible rendition of “Shake it Off.” “Also, free entertainment. They give free dessert on the weekend to those who are brave enough.”

Peter skims the menu provided and while everything looks appetizing, he steals a few glances at Johnny.

_How is it that he’s so fucking cute…_

“Hey.” Peter taps Johnny’s hand and he looks up from his menu. “Let’s say you’re getting robbed and the only way to get out of getting shot is if you sing a song word for word without messing any lyrics up. What is your song?”

Instead of questioning the scenario, Johnny places his menu on the table and looks off in thought.

“Uh,” he draws out the sound and taps his fingers on the table absently. “Damn, that’s a good question. What’s yours?”

“Obviously ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears.”

“Why is that obvious?” Johnny guffaws, hunching his shoulders forward.

“Who _doesn’t_ know that song?”

“Fair point,” Johnny agrees. “If we’re keeping with the pop theme, I’ll say my song is ‘Dirrty’ by Christina Aguilera.”

“Better not let stan Twitter hear that,” Peter grumbles.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, playing with a curl of hair at his nape. “You don’t expect me to actually sing tonight,  do you?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you to a karaoke joint if I didn’t.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly and puts up a halting hand. “Oh, gosh, I’m not that great of a singer.”

“Nobody who does karaoke is. That’s the fun. You gotta be a complete dickhead to do karaoke and sound like Beyoncé.” Johnny leans forward, getting as close as being on opposite sides of a booth can get them and brings his voice to a whisper. “We’re gonna make it a duet.”

“Oh, so we can both be embarrassed.”

“It isn’t embarrassing if you don’t make it that way,” Johnny says with finality, leans back, and points to the menu. “Get whatever you want.”

  


Any inhibitions that haunted Peter before are effectively washed away throughout the course of his and Johnny’s time together.

The other boy is hilarious and has Peter doubled over and holding his ribs with uncontrollable laughter with every joke he makes. Along with being unfairly funny, there’s a passion in his eyes when he talks about being a mechanic and racing in local drag races. Even though Peter doesn’t know what a catalytic converter is, he could listen to Johnny talk about cars until morning.

In the middle of their meal of shared appetizers, they exchange random information about each other that keep the topics coming. There’s never a dull moment in the conversation, and if Peter believed in fairytales, he’d swear this is the beginning of one.

He learns that Johnny is originally from Long Island, but the foster care system led him upstate. He was adopted when he was a lot younger, and he’s turning twenty in October. When he confesses that he’s never seen a single _Star Wars_ film and doesn’t plan on it, Peter almost chokes on the mozzarella stick in his mouth and demands an answer as to why.

Peter shares that he’s a born and bred Queens native and would die for science, to which Johnny pokes harmless fun at since his sister and her boyfriend are science nerds too.

Two hours have gone by since they’ve arrived, and much to Peter’s dismay, Johnny did not forget about their duet. The bar is insanely busy and crowded with drunk and easily amused patrons who would not judge some random kids, but Peter’s nerves bundle anyway.

“You seen _High School Musical_ , right?” Johnny asks when he comes back to the table after requesting their turn.

“I’m not that young,” Peter says. “Of course, I’ve seen _High School Musical_.”

“Okay, so the beginning where Troy and Gabriella are forced to do karaoke and the guys like ‘you guys’ll thank me later,’ right? This is what it’s gonna be like. You’re gonna love it.”

“Then we’ll part for the summer and I’ll see you at school where you inevitably have to choose between basketball or theater.”

“Don’t forget the part where we break out into song and everyone knows the choreography for no reason.”

“What song did you even pick?”

“A good one.”

Peter frowns in feigned impatience. “I don’t trust you.”

“You’re gonna have to, for real.”

“What if I don’t know the song?”

Johnny’s eyes roll half-heartedly like it’s the most impossible thing he’s ever heard. “Everyone knows this song.”

After a few more hilarious and tone deaf performances, the deejay calls Johnny’s name and despite the heavy weight in Peter’s stomach, he follows Johnny up on stage.

The stage lights are bright and nearly blinding, making it impossible to see the rest of the bar, but no one seems to be paying enough attention for Peter to be truly nervous. Johnny adjusts his microphone stand and checks Peter’s reaction instead of the huge flat screen on the wall where the song title appears.

It’s a heartfelt R&B throwback that Sam has on most of his playlists, and sure enough Peter knows it. Peter doesn’t even have to look at the lyrics, so he waits for the music.

Johnny sings the first part, and he’s got a decent voice even if he isn’t trying. As expected, he’s more comfortable on stage than Peter, making a scene out of sillily serenading Peter. As flushed as the boy is, Peter enjoys the attention and laughs at his date’s pop-locking and early 2000’s-esque dancing.

_“Do you remember boy...I was the one who gave you your first kiss...'Cause I remember boy...I was the one who said put your lips like this…”_

There’s no possible way that Peter’s cheeks could get any redder or that his smile could get any wider. He’s only slightly embarrassed with Johnny attracting the majority of the attention to himself. Instead of checking for the other patrons’ approval, Peter lets himself be sang to and enjoys himself.

He doesn’t sound anything close like the song, but Peter sings the second part the best he can, standing stock still with his arms crossed. Johnny has unattached his mic from its stand and makes a show of grinding on Peter, making them both laugh aloud because it really is a silly sight to witness.

_“Yes, I remember boy...'Cause after we kissed… I could only think about your lips...Yes, I remember boy...The moment I knew...You were the one I could spend my life with…”_

Completely ignoring the assigned harmonies, Johnny adds in his own extra runs and notes, singing right into Peter’s ear. He’s so close, and it makes Peter feels so safe in the way where he wants to submit to the way he feels about Johnny. Interestingly enough, he’s not freaked out that he feels like this towards another boy. It feels like it always should’ve been this way.

Johnny is eyeing him like he means what he’s singing, but Peter cannot tell if he’s being funny for sure or if it’s serious. Whatever the case, Peter suddenly wants to go so they can be alone and act on these looks.

_“I don't know about y’all...But I know about us and uh...This is the only way we know how to rock…”_

The song comes to a close with minimal applause, but Peter is proud of their performance even if he barely sang and Johnny did a very goofy what could be seen as an Usher impersonation.  

When they’re seated back at their table, Johnny wipes sweat from his forehead with a napkin and gestures to the stage. “See that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I mean, it wasn’t _High School Musical_ ,” Peter quips jokingly.

“I think we did a lil’ better than Troy and Gabriella,” he replies confidently. “You want dessert?”

Although a nice huge bowl of ice cream sounds delicious right now, it’s nearly eleven and Peter desperately wants alone time with Johnny before curfew. The teenager shakes his head and pretends to check the time on his phone.

“We should, uh, get outta here. Curfew is soon.”

“Right,” Johnny agrees. “I’ll pay and we can leave.”

“We could go half!” Peter suggests. “I ate more than you anyway and—“

“I asked you out,” Johnny reminds him. “It’s not a good look to take you on a date and go Dutch.”

Confirmed: this is a date. This is a date, Peter is very smitten, and Ned is going to officiate their wedding in a few years.

“I got the tip, then,” Peter says, determined to contribute in some way.

Johnny smirks childishly with a tiny nod. “Your cute ass could get more than the tip,” he mutters low enough to where he thinks Peter can’t hear, but Peter isn’t shy enough to smack his shoulder and giggle at the innuendo.  
  


Peter has seen enough teen movies to know what should happen when coming home from a date.

The entire twenty minute ride back to the house is silent, save for the radio, and Johnny doesn't hesitate in putting his hand on Peter’s thigh again. Because he loves how it feels, Peter holds onto Johnny's arm and there’s really no need for words.

Once they pull up to the house, Johnny extracts the key from the ignition, killing the engine, and stopping the music. The only sound left is the outdoors and the rapid beat of Peter’s heart. Johnny can probably hear it, and if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.

Neither have undone their seatbelts or made any move to get out of the car. He could ask Johnny to walk him to the door, but his body craves something deeper than just holding hands for a few feet and shyly asking for a kiss.

They always say all the same things in the movies.

“I had a really nice time,” Peter tells him in his best imitation of any female protagonist in any teen movie ever made. “Thanks for asking me out.”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

_Boy, does he want to…_

“We should do something like this again,” Johnny continues, experimentally squeezing Peter’s thigh and igniting a new courage within the boy.

“We should,” Peter agrees, rubbing Johnny’s arm and watching the micro-expressions come and go on his date’s face. “I’m free most days after four.”

“A’ight.”

They sit in their own unaddressed lust a while longer, trying to figure out what to do. Peter wants this boy in ways he can’t articulate, and the feeling must be mutual since Johnny hasn’t let go of his leg nor unlocked his door for him to get out.

Suddenly, Johnny chuckles and quirks an eyebrow. “You remember at Shuri’s party when we went to the basement b’cus I said I had something I wanted to show you and you asked if it was a tattoo?”

 _And I came on myself?_ Peter nods. “I’m so dumb.”

“Well, I do have a tattoo,” he confesses, lifting his t-shirt at the hem to reveal a faded black and grey flame tattoo on his right pectoral. “Got it when I was sixteen. Dumbest decision ever, but it’s cheaper to keep it and live with the dumb mistakes than get it removed.”

“I like it,” Peter gulps, trying his best to not be distracted by Johnny’s physique. “You have a thing for fire, huh? The flame emojis, naming your car Torch, the tattoo.”

Johnny shrugs. “Guess I’m a bit of a hothead.”

Peter nods, hands still wrapped around Johnny’s arm. “Ya know, I, um, got something I wanna show you, too,” he murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?”

The nerve Peter builds up to wrap Johnny’s hand around his own and lead it downward until they’re both cupping Peter’s half-hard crotch comes out of nowhere. Peter, much too high on lust to care about being this bold, grins sheepishly up at Johnny when his gaze dips.

“Damn,” Johnny whispers, flattered with the gradual hardening of Peter’s penis. “Wish you would’ve said something earlier.”

“And let you think I was easy?” Peter deadpans, unclicking his seatbelt in the same instant he’s climbing over the center console into Johnny’s lap and fusing their mouths together.

Peter cups Johnny’s face, leaving him little to no room to escape, not that he would want to anyway. He wanted to be to the one to make the first move, but just knowing that Johnny’s advances are being reciprocated makes it worth it.

Peter parts his lips just enough for Johnny to tease them the rest of the way open and lick mindlessly inside his mouth. The rush of it all has Peter’s toes curling in his shoes and mind racing a mile a minute. He doesn’t have a technique on how any of this is suppose to go, so he just listens to his body and Johnny’s, working himself in a way that they both like.

Even through two pairs of underwear and denim jeans, they can feel how hard the other is, and it’s an exhilarating rush of power to know that Johnny is hard for him. There is a narrow space between Johnny and the steering wheel, but Peter is small enough to not accidentally honk the horn every time he rocks back and rubs their crotches together.

He groans wordlessly into Johnny’s mouth at the friction between them. Johnny delicately copies the sound, emitting a valley of vibration between their lips.

The kisses are hasty but long, leaving just enough time for Peter to taste their meal on Johnny’s mouth. With one hand on his face and the other creeping behind Johnny’s neck, Peter breaks the kiss to gasp.

“Oh, my god,” he says wistfully, head upwards turned towards the car ceiling, leaving his neck exposed. Johnny takes it as an invitation to leave love bites and kisses where he can reach, making Peter gasp and moan some more. He has his long fingers locked in the thick of Peter’s waves, using the grip as leverage to move Peter how he wants.

“Gotta say,” Johnny starts, moving his other hand to Peter’s hip to guide his strokes. “I imagined you riding me a lil’ differently.”

“So, you’ve imagined it,” Peter barely gets out before a moan overtakes him. “Oh, god, _Johnny_.”

Without realizing it, Peter’s delicate fingers clamp onto Johnny’s broad shoulders while his thighs clench around the other boy’s hips. Peter writhes in Johnny’s lap like he can’t help himself, desperate in the precious way that Johnny feels inclined to give him whatever he wants.

Peter pulls away to meet Johnny’s eyes, getting a clear look at him in the midst of ecstasy. Even though Peter’s experience is limited, having just admitted to himself that he likes boys, he’s positive Johnny is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He’s watching Peter with heavy eyes, dumbstruck yet impressed that the shy boy he met at Shuri’s party is taking the lead.  
  
“I like when you say my name,” Johnny admits, holding back his own sounds of pleasure even though Peter’s weight feels good on top of him. Johnny pulls his lips down, bringing him in for another round of kisses.  
  
“Anything to help that big old ego,” Peter mutters emphatically between kisses, pressing down on the hard line of Johnny’s lap. “Big, _big_ ego.”

There’s no better way to describe it.  
  
Peter is riding Johnny like a shameless cowboy, and as juvenile as dry humping in the front seat of a car is, he loves it. Johnny likes it too, if his heavy breathing, urgent touches, and lusty glares mean anything.  
  
Peter pulls away again to pant, “Oh, my god,” into Johnny’s mouth. “Oh, _fuck_ ...”  
  
Johnny sucks at Peter’s pulse point, panting into the flesh of his neck and aiding Peter’s hip to and from.  
  
“You like it,” he tells Peter, and he nods instantly.  
  
“Yeah,” Peter whines. “I have no idea what I’m doing, though.”  
  
They share a giggle. Johnny nods too.  
  
“Can’t say I do, either,” Johnny admits. “Just know—,” he grunts, “—that it feels fucking good.”  
  
Being together is easy. They’ve only been at it for less than ten minutes, but it’d be useless to hold off coming just to prolong what is already a good time.

Peter admits it first. “I think I’m gonna, uh—” His hips move urgently in time with his croaked gasps. “I’m gonna come.”

Johnny cups Peter’s face so their eyes meet, making Peter melt. “Can I touch you?”

In a state of complete surrender, Peter nods and Johnny carefully maneuvers them just enough to unzip Peter’s jeans and put his hand down the front of the younger boy’s underwear.

The skin on skin contact gets a bolt of adrenaline shooting up Peter’s spine. He rocks into Johnny’s hand, compliant and content because it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.  
  
“You good?”  
  
Peter bites at his bottom lip. “Johnny,” he whimpers helplessly, unaware of how absolutely precious he sounds to Johnny’s ears.  
  
A flush in the form of lust colors Peter’s skin pink and warm. He buries his face onto the side of Johnny’s neck, unable to take much more. Nothing should feel this good and be real.  
  
“You’re so cute, oh my god,” Johnny tells him encouragingly, exhaling sharply. He’s close too.  
  
Peter’s eyes grow too heavy to keep open. “Can I have a kiss? Please?”  
  
Johnny complies, planting a wet and sloppy kiss against Peter’s lips and then along his jaw. Their rhythm grows desperate with rough pacing, signaling they only need a couple of more moments until they lose it on each other.  
  
Peter is grabbing where he can reach, his nose smushed against Johnny’s cheek. As difficult as it is to kiss in this position, Johnny nibbles and pecks where he’s able to, keeping his hands steady while Peter’s hips thrust forward and back.  
  
In the middle of wriggling about, Peter pulls back to look Johnny right in his eyes and refuses to break eye contact despite his body’s objections.  
  
“I’m… it’s... you’re gonna—” Peter stutters, unsure of what he is trying to say. “You’re gonna make me come—”  
  
He presses his forehead to Johnny’s, making the moment that much more intimate.  
  
“Do it,” Johnny commands breathlessly.  
  
Peter’s breath hitches, strained, as his eyebrows draw upward and his mouth goes slack in the shape of an _o_ . Completely done for, he ruts with sporadic vigor and releases into Johnny’s hand. The sound that follows is loud but breathless considering all the oxygen in his lungs aired out the second he began to come.  
  
He shakes throughout the entirety of the experience with Johnny milking him through it and whispering sweet nothing into his ear. Huffing sharply and intermittently against Johnny’s face, Peter’s heart clenches when the other boy whispers how beautiful witnessing this is.

When Peter comes down from his post-orgasmic high, he becomes aware that his underwear and pants have a wet patch in the front.

_Another pair of jeans effectively ruined by this fucking guy..._

Peter’s bottom lip is red and puffy from their previous kissing, but it doesn’t stop Johnny from continuing to press butterfly pecks there. In the haze of everything, Johnny retracts his hand from Peter’s underwear to get a napkin from the glove compartment and wipe his hand.  
  
Just as quickly as it started, it’s over, but neither are sad about it.

Limp and spent, Peter heaves his heavy limbs to sit upright in Johnny’s lap. “Did you—” he starts to ask, and then blushes at the identical dark spot in the front of Johnny’s jeans. “Oh.”

“That was…” Johnny takes a moment to laugh, covering his face with the hand previously in Peter’s underwear. “We just did that, didn’t we?”

Peter pulls his phone from his pocket. “With ten minutes to spare,” he tells him and then brushes the sweat from his forehead through his hair. “Thank you, by the way. Is that what people say after doing this kinda thing? Uh, jeez, I’m being weird.”

“Like I said, you’re cute,” Johnny reiterates, cupping Peter face to kiss his nose. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

They both get out through the driver’s side and fix each other up enough to look halfway presentable. There’s nothing that can be done about their pants, but there’s a funny charm about it.

With their finger interlocked and barely any space between them, Johnny walks Peter to the front door where they turn to face each other.

“I really did have fun,” Peter says again, staring at his shoes while he fiddles with the house keys. “Even before we, uh, ya know.”

“We could always do it again. Going out, I mean.”

Peter looks up at him and grins. “My Dad wants you to come over for dinner sometime. Only if you want to, though. He’s always cooking so it makes sense, I guess.”

“Dinner with my new boo’s father who just so happens to date my boss.” Johnny plays with the idea and gives a shrug. “Well, at least they’re not strangers. Why the hell not.”

“Great.” Peter wraps a hand around the back of his neck to bring their lips together. Johnny smiles through the kiss.

“I’ll let him know and text you when, okay?” Peter whispers against his mouth.

“A’ight.” Johnny pecks his cheek and pulls away. “Lemme know. Imma see you.”

“Bye!” Peter squeaks, missing the lock every time he tries to let himself in the house with how distracted he is watching Johnny walk away.

After a few tries, Peter gets the key in and is in the house a second later, waiting and watching Johnny start the car, reverse, and disappear down the dark road.

He stands at the window a little longer than needed, a small part of him wanting Johnny to come back and stay. It’s far-fetched, but he can dream.

On the way to the stairs, a guttural snore emits from the living room. Peter takes a detour, and the source of the noise is his Dad fast asleep on the recliner with a lamp illuminating his resting face. The half finished mug of tea, open book laid on his chest, and the alert way his body is propped in the chair suggest he might have fallen asleep waiting for Peter to come home.

Steve’s friends give Steve a hard time for being so overbearing, but Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t like it a small amount.

Peter plucks the book from between Steve’s fingers, saves the page, and sets it on the coffee table. He places the couch blanket over his body, turns the lamp off, and does his best to quietly make it to his bedroom.

  
\--

“When did you learn how to drive?” Peter asks suddenly, looking up from the driving school website on his phone screen.

Bucky tinkers with something on the motorcycle with a wrench. “Sixteen. Becca’s old man taught me.”

“Did you get your license on the first try?”

“Yup.”

Peter sits up from where he lays in the back of the pickup truck. “My friend Liz got hers on the first try too! Her dad taught her, but I think he went to jail before she took the test.”

Bucky blinks off to the side and nods. “Anybody ever tell you you’ve got an oversharing problem, kid?”

“No, they haven’t!” Peter says innocently and rests on his elbows. “I think I wanna learn how to drive now.”

“That nifty little gift your father so nicely left us have anything to do with that?”

The Rolls Royce almost taunts him by just sitting there. Peter glances behind him to look at the car and grimaces.

“I mean, that and I feel kinda bad about making you and Dad drive me around everywhere all summer, so I might as well.”

“That’s fair. You got a permit?”

“I’ve had it for a few months now, but my parents haven’t gotten an opportunity to take me to an empty parking lot yet.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Your Dad’s been talking ‘bout signing you up for driving school.”

“I can pay for it,” Peter insists and scrolls through the website. “Says here I need to take the two week course and get fifty hours of drive time in before I can take the official test.”

“I know you don’t think we’re gonna let you learn to drive in that,” Bucky scoffs, pointing to the Phantom with his wrench.

“Oh, of course not.” Peter hops out of the cargo bed. “I need something more practical and less complicated, like a sedan.”

“Right,” Bucky agrees absentmindedly, turning to the toolbox on the counter behind him to look for a part.

“Or a pickup truck,” Peter adds quietly.

Bucky turns back to the young boy with controlled quickness and a pointed index finger. “You’re not asking what I think you’re asking.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet,” he says, fully aware that he sounds like a smart ass.

“Kid.”

“Adult _._ ”

Bucky scoffs again, rolling his eyes and leaning on the workbench. “You want _me_ to teach _you_ how to drive?”

Peter’s head jerks about like a bobble head. “Please?”

“Why don’t you ask your Dad to teach you?”

“Oh, c’mon, you know he’s a nervous wreck when he’s not in control, and that’ll make me a nervous wreck too! You’re chill and probably won’t freak out if I go a little too fast and run over a squirrel.”

“You ran over a squirrel?” Bucky asks, appalled.

“No,” Peter shakes his head. “Pop did on accident one time and my Dad cried the rest of the way home.”

Bucky crosses his arms, shaking his head off at nothing. “I don’t know, kid. It might be best if Steve taught you.”

Puppy-dog eyes work like magic on Steve, and even though Peter is sure they won’t break Bucky, he widens his eyes sadly.

“Please, please, please, please, Bucky! I won’t ask you for anything else ever! Just please, for the love of everything, don’t make me sit in the car with him and make me the reason he overreacts at every little bump in the road,” Peter pleads briskly, his hands folded in prayer position.

“You should have more faith in your Dad. He can be a patient man.”

“He’ll trust you to teach me. Just, please, Bucky. I’m literally begging.”

“That’s apparent.”

Peter groans, spinning in an anxious circle. “Please? Please.”

“Why can’t Sam or Natasha teach you?”

“Sam drives like he’s in NASCAR, and Aunt Nat has done enough by teaching me basic sex ed when the public school system failed me. I thought boys were supposed to get periods ‘til I was, like, twelve, and cried when I didn’t get mine!”

“Again with the oversharing,” Bucky mutters, arms flopping to his sides with a whole upper body shrug. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Is it? I think it’ll be fun!”

“Kid, you think documentaries about paper production is fun.”

“They’re informative, so excuse you, and yes, it’ll be fun! We can bond and stuff! Don’t you wanna just hang out and get to know each other? You’re practically my stepdad, and what creates a bond better than teaching me how to drive?”

Bucky narrows his eyes down at the boy.  “I _know_ this is a trap,” he tells Peter, pointing at his chest. “You’re using all the right words to butter me up and trap me into teaching your ass how to drive.”

Peter winces, scratching behind his neck awkwardly. “Is it working?”

The look Bucky regards him with flashes from suspicion to disapproval to considering and back to suspicion all in a matter of five seconds. He lowers his finger and puts his hand on his hip, never averting his gaze from Peter’s cheekish, irresistible, and hopeful smile.

“I just wanna say I know this is a trap,” he repeats, shaking his head and raising his hands reluctant surrender. “Fuck. You really are your Dad’s son. Can’t say no to him for shit.”

“So, you’ll teach me?”

The childlike excitement in Peter’s voice could make flowers grow, and Bucky wishes he didn’t resemble so much of Steve. It’d be easier to deny him.

“Okay, look, kid, I’m only saying yes ‘cus—”

Bucky barely finishes his sentence before Peter flings his arms around the older man’s torso and lets out a high pitched squeal.

“Thank you, Bucky, oh, God! Thank you! I’ll be the best student ever and—”

“Shut up for a second and lemme lay down the ground rules,” Bucky barks, attempting to sound threatening, but Peter knows it’s put on.

Peter lets him out of the one-sided hug and doesn’t have the care to appear ashamed. “Right, yeah, ground rules, yeah. It is your car, so yeah.”

“First.” Bucky bends his pinky with his index to count down. “His name is Winter, so that’s what we call him.”

“Winter,” Peter repeats. “Why Winter?”

“I don’t have time for a Q and A.” Bucky bends back his ring finger. “Second: you listen to what I say and don’t question it ‘cus if you’re gonna be behind the wheel of my ride, you’re gonna listen to my rules. Got it, kid?”

“You sound like a nineteen-seventies sheriff,” Peter snickers, and Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and groans.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Everything will be fine and fun! My Dad won’t stress me out and I won’t stress him out. Everybody wins!”

“What do I get out of it?”

“The love and adoration of a seventeen-year-old boy whose life you’ll change forever.”

“To be honest, kid, I’d rather you just make me a promise and not crash my ride.”

“I promise! Winter will be fine! It’s gonna be great! Just thank you, okay? Thank you!”

A ghost of a smile passes over Bucky’s pouty lips before he stifles it with a disinterested grimace. “Whatever, Peter. Do me a favor and go see what your Dad is cooking for dinner.”

With a skip in his step and a huge smile on his face, Peter makes his way inside from the garage to the kitchen. Steve’s meat sauce recipe permeates the house, but Peter stops in his tracks when something dawns on him.

Bucky called him Peter.

He used his actual name. As foreign as it sounded coming out of his mouth, it had a ring to it.

  
\--

That night, Johnny texts Peter that he’s free for dinner that Friday. Peter passes the message along, and cannot tell if Steve is happy about it not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this chapter is My Boo by Usher and Alicia Keys.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only known HalcyonSeasons for a day and a half (5 years), but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

“You’re reading a new book every time I see you,” Peter notices aloud, looking over at Michelle. “And I see you everyday.” 

“You didn’t see me yesterday,” she corrects him, flipping a page and not even sparing him a glance. 

“We literally worked an entire shift together.” 

She shakes her head. “I don’t recall.” 

“My Dad drove you home!” 

“Sounds fake, but go off, I guess.” 

Peter is used to Michelle’s oddities, but he indulges in her quirky comments just to see how far she’ll go with them. 

One thing he has gotten used to is that she always has her nose buried in a book whether it’s at lunch, the movies, the pool, or right now at a carnival where there are nearly a hundred other things to do. 

Today started out like any other day. Peter had a morning shift, Peggy let him leave two hours early because business was slow, and Gwen invited him to the carnival in town. Oblivious to the fact that Gwen really invited him to be her date, he asked Michelle who pretended to be annoyed that he’d even ask, but agreed to come anyway. To save herself the embarrassment, Gwen brought along Cindy and Sally, and the three of them were acting like Michelle didn’t exist. 

Like they usually do.

Well, “acting like Michelle didn’t exist” is a harsh way to put it. They don’t interact with her often, but they keep inviting her around. 

It confuses Peter. 

What confuses Peter further is why Michelle keeps accepting said invites when she ends up bringing a new book every time and says two words to everyone who isn’t Peter. 

It may not be Peter’s place to ask, but he truly can’t help his curiosity. 

“Can I ask you something? Friend to friend,” he says. 

“Is that what we are?” she asks, skillfully dodging a group of kids skipping by without looking up from the book. 

“Anyway,” he continues, assuring Gwen, Sally, and Cindy are far ahead out of earshot in the thick of the crowd. “Do you like coming out with us?” 

“I‘m here, aren’t I?” 

“That doesn’t answer what I’m asking.”

“ _ Why _ are you asking?” 

Peter shrugs. “I’m just trying to figure it out, I guess.”

“It?” Michelle repeats, turning the page again. 

“It, like, why, I guess? Like, why do you go out with the other girls?” he inquires. “They don’t talk to you and you don’t talk to them. Michelle, are you even friends with them?”

Michelle abruptly slams her book shut and it makes Peter’s shoulders tense and jump in fear. Just as he’s about to dive into an apology about overstepping, she silently nudges his shoulder and grins to herself.

It’s unsettling in the same way it is charming. 

“You’re observant, Peter Stark.” 

“Am I?”

“You’re probably a Virgo moon.” 

Peter’s eyebrow quirks. “I’m a Cancer.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes in annoyance and exhales resignedly. “Anyway, weirdo, as I was saying, you’re very observant.” 

“So, you wouldn’t say your friends with Gwen?” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t know her last name, if she even has one.” 

“Betty?” 

“Eh.” 

“Sally?” 

She shrugs. 

“Not even Cindy?” 

“Maybe.”

Boggled by this information, Peter scrunches his face up in confusion and rubs his temples in attempt to make sense of everything. 

“Well, would they say the same about you?” he asks. 

She shrugs again. “I stopped caring for what they say about me a long time ago.”

Her answers arouse more questions than answering them. “Which brings me to my first question of why you hang out with them. You don’t even seem to like them.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m asking as a friend.” 

Unconvinced, Michelle opens her book back up as her own way of ending the conversation. A second later, Peter shuts the book with his hand over hers and on the receiving end of her deadly glare. 

“Look, we don’t have to talk about the other girls, but at least just be in the moment with me,” he suggests, gesturing to the rides, food stands, and games around them. “There’s all  _ this _ in front of us! Don’t you wanna experience it?” 

“This isn’t a John Hughes movie, so stop talking like it is, and you’re lucky I don’t pummel you with all four hundred and eighty pages of this book,” she grumbles, but keeps the book closed. “You’re so chipper all of a sudden. You usually look like you want to jump off a bridge, but lately, you only look like you wanna jump off maybe a two story building.” 

Peter smirks, remembering the other night vividly. “I mean, I guess,” he mutters shyly. “You wanna get on a ride?” 

“Nothing would bring me more immense discomfort, but we’re friends, so whatever.” 

Just as Peter predicted, Gwen, Sally, and Cindy don’t notice that the two of them wander off on their own. If they do, they make little effort to find them, leaving them to ride the majority of the rides on their own. There’s some kind of obscure humor in the image of Peter screaming with his hands in the air next to a bored Michelle who shows minimal reaction to just about every ride they get on. 

“Bet I could win that!” Peter says, pointing to the jumbo-sized stuffed panda hanging on display over a colorful game booth. 

Michelle takes a bite of the chocolate dipped churro he bought her and nods challengingly. “You shouldn’t bet, Peter. Gambling ruins families every year at startling rates.” 

"How many for the panda?" Peter asks the buff brunet manning the stand.   
  
He nods up at the toy, smirking devilishly with a toothpick between his glistening teeth. “A dollar to play. For the panda, ya gotta hit all five stacks down," he informs Peter, pointing over at the line of milk bottles stacked atop each other. He gives Michelle a once over. “But for the lady, you only gotta knock down three."  
  
Peter and Michelle simultaneously grimace at the flirtatious smile the booth attendant flashes her way.   
  
“Gross,” she mumbles.   
  
Peter directs the attendant’s attention back to him with a wave. “I can knock 'em all down," he announces confidently, pulling his wallet from his pocket.   
  
Michelle snickers, narrowing her eyes at the tenant as he accepts Peter’s money. “You know these kinds of games are rigged, right?” she whispers to Peter.   
  
“Yeah, but it’s just a dollar,” he reasons, taking the five baseballs from the attendant and handing four to Michelle.   
  
“God, I wish I were rich.”  
  
Peter takes a few steps away from the booth to find footing and aims before swinging. The first set of milk bottles clatter to the ground with a loud _clink_.   
  
"Alright, buddy, knock the next four down and the panda's all yours!" the attendant cheers sardonically, but Peter ignores him and swings again.  
  
The second set falls to the ground, and the third and fourth follow suit every turn after.   
  
“Oh, that is quite an arm you got there! Last time and the panda's yours!"  
  
Peter throws his arm back and lets the ball fly from his palm with unstoppable force. The ball crashes into the bottom left bottle, effectively knocking it and the top bottle over. Unfair suspense on whether he won the toy or not grows while Peter, Michelle and the attendant watch the bottom right bottle wobble with uncertainty.   


The bottle rocks another couple of moments and then one last time before settling back to its upright state with a clatter.    
  
“Rigged,” Michelle huffs again. Peter pouts and gazes at the last milk bottle like it is the reason for all of Earth's problems.   
  
The attendant scoots over to the display and nonchalantly knocks the last bottle over. "Well, would ya look at that! The last bottle fell! Good job, man! You got the panda!"   


To both teens’ surprise, the attendant removes the huge stuffed animal from the rack and hands it over. “Here, kid.” 

“Um,” Peter hums, accepting the gift. “Thanks, man!” 

“For another buck, you can win the alligator!” the attendant tries, but Michelle grabs Peter by his arm before he can answer. 

“You’ll go broke trying to get an entire zoo,” she tells him, taking another bite of her churro. 

“Told you I could win it!” 

“He gave it to you because he knows we know that it’s rigged, obviously.” 

“Can you just indulge me?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Peter looks between the toy to Michelle chewing the last of the churro. He presents it towards her and she peers down at it like it personally offends her. 

“Um?” 

“Here!” 

She looks at him dubiously.

“Go on, take it,” he encourages her. “I really won it for you.” 

“You mean _he_ _gave it to you_ for me.” 

“ _ Michelle _ .” 

She groans and takes it from him reluctantly. “You’re corny. Corny and observant.”   
  
  
  


The carnival closes at nine, just when the summer sky gets dark. 

Sally and Cindy live in the same apartment complex, so Gwen drops them off first. Michelle is in the next neighborhood over, and when they arrive to her house, Peter hops out of the passenger seat to walk her to her door. 

“I can walk myself to the door,” she tells him, hugging the panda close against her hip. 

“Yeah, I know you can, it just, uh, seemed right to do. A lot of things can happen from the car to the door.”

Michelle uses her free hand to pull keys from her satchel. “Glad I have a hero like you to keep me safe from harm.” She actually smiles at him. “Can’t see your girlfriend being okay with you playing bodyguard though.”

“I'm not—! We’re not—! No, no, no, it’s not like that. Gwen and I aren’t—!” he blurts, throwing an obnoxious thumb to the car that Michelle swiftly smacks down. 

“You are the poster child for being inconspicuous,” she hisses. 

“Oh, you were joking.” 

“Duh, stupid!” 

“Well, for the record, I’m not into Gwen like that.” To be fair, he can’t say he’s into Gwen in  _ any _ way.

“Gwen doesn’t know that.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s the truth in the fullest sense, and Peter has no clue how to deter her. 

Michelle opens her door and walks through the threshold. “You’re coming over tomorrow, by the way.” 

“Okay.” 

“Bring your swim trunks.”

“Okay,” he says then thinks about it. “Wait, why don’t we just go swim at the lake at my house?” 

Michelle stops the door from closing with her foot and makes a dramatic effort to turn and stare him down. “I’m not swimming and dipping my hair anywhere that fish and impatient people have peed.” 

With that, she shuts the door and turns the lock. 

She has a point.   
  
  
  


Peter walks through the front door just as Bucky comes in from working in the garage. 

“Have fun with your friends?” Bucky asks when they see each other. His face, arms, and hands are blackened with grease and smudge from fixing the motorcycle. 

“Yeah, it was a good time,” he says, following Bucky into the kitchen. “What’d you guys do?” 

“Just old man stuff,” Bucky replies and runs the kitchen faucet. “I’m almost done working on your Dad’s bike. Hopefully the piece of junk’ll be up and running and ready to ride by the end of the week.”

“Wait, that’s my Dad’s?” Peter asks, pointing to the garage door. “Since when does my Dad ride motorcycles?” 

“That punk has had that piece of shit since he was your age.” Bucky squirts his hands with dish soap and lathers them up. 

“I didn’t know that.” Peter attempts to imagine his Dad at seventeen on the back of a motorcycle, but he comes up with nothing. “Doesn’t seem realistic.” 

“Contrary to what you think,” Bucky says, scrubbing the mess from his hands. “Your Dad used to be a very skilled motorcyclist. God, kid, he loved it. Hasn't ridden in a while, but he figured if I could fix that metal hellride, he could pick it back up again.” 

“Why did he stop?” 

Once his hands are clean, Bucky shuts the faucet off and rips a paper towel. “It wasn’t until you were born and he got all sentimental about riding. He stopped ‘cus he thought it was selfish to put himself in harm’s way when he had you and Stark at home.” 

“Oh.” Should that make Peter feel guilty? He certainly is now. “That’s a very Dad thing of him to do.” 

“You’re telling me.”

“Do you ride?” 

The man shakes his head. “Not anymore.” 

“Why?” 

Bucky’s mouth maneuvers to the side as he looks off at nothing in particular. “You ask a lot of questions.” 

“Um—"

“You sign up for school?” Bucky stomps out of the kitchen passed Peter and to the hallway, but the boy follows him anyway.

“Uh, yeah. My classes start next week.”

“Good.” 

“Would you teach me how to ride a motorcycle, too?” 

“Don’t push your luck,” Bucky warns him, but it doesn’t deter Peter from pestering the man about it.

  
\--

 

Today is one of those summer days where all anybody would want to do is swim, tan, and down a huge glass of lemonade. Peter enjoys doing so with Michelle and her copy of  _ Hamlet’s Mill _ . 

Despite inviting Peter over for a swim, Michelle hasn’t gotten in the water once or put on a bathing suit—although she does wear her Black Lives Matter t-shirt and athletic shorts well—but instead reads her book in a lawn chair and offers snide comments about the book. 

Peter pretends to know what she’s talking about having not read the book, and entertains himself by doing the most ridiculous flips thought of into the pool. 

It’s very comfortable, very natural, and very them. 

“You ever think you’ll develop telekinetic powers like Matilda?” Peter asks her, resting his head on his elbows on the concrete edge of the pool. 

“How do you know I don’t already?” she replies. 

“Pass me my towel, then.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Peter paddles away from the wall. “I finally got around to reading  _ The Perks of Being a Wallflower _ after watching the movie with my Dad, and it’s pretty intense. We cried.” 

Michelle lowers her sunglasses to look at Peter splashing around like a happy guppy. “Yeah, it’s an intense read.” 

“What’s your favorite book? Mine’s  _ A Brief History of Time.  _ My brain hurts with how smart Stephen Hawking is,” Peter says, shifting his weight to float on his back. 

“I don’t like anything enough to favor anything but if I had to pick because you are so insistently nosy,” she starts, shutting the book and holding the page with her finger. “I read this one book a year ago about this Jewish Italian boy who falls in love with his dad’s research assistant over the summer of 1987. It’s eye opening.” 

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Eye opening,” he repeats. “Why?” 

Michelle taps her nail against the hardcover of the book and pushes her sunglasses up her nose. “Eye opening because the research assistant was male, and up until the point where he comes to live with the family for the summer, the boy identified as heterosexual.” 

_ That sounds familiar. _

“After this wild and romantic adventure of a summer together, the boy realizes he’s not straight and he comes to terms with it in the most unorthodox ways. It’s really good.” 

_ That definitely sounds familiar. _

Peter blinks up at the cloudless sky. “Unorthodox like how?” 

Michelle sighs. “Well, for one thing, he masturbates with a peach and then cries about it.” 

Peter positions himself upright to face Michelle and see if she’s joking, but the unfazed expression donning her facial features says she isn’t. 

“You’re lying.” 

“I would never lie about art,” she protests, opening her book again. 

“H-h-how would you even—?” he stammers, trying to imagine such a thing. “Is that even possible? Like, he just does it? That sounds like a mess.” 

“Well.” 

“All ‘cus he found out he was bisexual?” 

“There’s more to it than I’m explaining,” she adds with a shrug. “But that’s the gist of it.” 

“Jeez, I hope I never lose it like that,” Peter mutters to himself, wading slowly to keep afloat. He isn’t as quiet as he thinks he is because Michelle cuts through his not-so-inner inner monologue. 

“Why would  _ you _ lose it?” 

When it comes to trusting people and keeping secrets, Ned, May, and his parents—only on some days—are the most reliable on Peter’s list. Michelle has earned a spot on said list mainly because she doesn’t talk to anyone, she won’t care, or she will forget the secret by the time the conversation is over due to not caring. Also, she seems like the type to have secrets of her own. 

It’s not a matter of whether he trusts Michelle enough to tell her he’s bisexual; it has more to do with if he’s ready to be open with himself about it. 

Peter quickly swaps the dear-in-the-headlights look for one of mischievousness. 

She waits for his answer, but instead of saying anything, he climbs out of the pool. Her thick eyebrows wiggle with suspicion as she watches him silently approach the lawn chair. 

“What the hell are you doing, weirdo?” Michelle lowers her book from in front of her face, brown eyes narrowed behind the dark tint of the shades. 

“Can you swim?” he asks.

“Yes?” It comes out as a question, but it’s too late to wonder as Peter takes the book from her hands and scoops her up bridal-style from the lawn chair all in one swift second. 

“Oh, hell no!” she shouts, wiggling in his arms to escape. “Put me down!” 

Peter would oblige and he has a taunt prepared, but he’s distract by the most precious thing he’s ever heard and seen.

Michelle is  _ actually laughing _ . She’s smiling, both rows of teeth on display without even realizing. Her eyes are twinkling and the grip she has around Peter’s neck means everything but  _ put me down.  _

Before doing anything else, he mentally saves the memory and laughs along with her. 

“Hold your breath,” he advises before stepping over the ledge, right through the nonexistent barrier of air and water. 

The scream Michelle lets out is cut off by the crash of their bodies into the water and muffled fizz of bubbles that follow. She falls from his arms and once the white bubbles fade, Peter gets a look at her beneath surface.

She’s still laughing while huge bubbles blow from her nose. She moves about weightlessly, her shirt, shorts, and hair adrift from her body in the most aesthetically pleasing way. The sun beams intersects the water, highlighting her graceful movement.

Peter really wants to see her this happy more often.

Michelle swims upward first and Peter follows, meeting her above the surface at eye level despite their height difference. 

“You’re a dick,” she mutters with no real hostility in her tone to back the statement up. 

Peter just nods in agreement, at a complete loss for words with just how much he likes this girl. It’s unfair for anyone to be like this. He doesn’t know what “like this” entails but Michelle is exactly it. 

Neither say anything else as they float around each other in the middle of the pool, staring at each other. It’s not until she exhales a shaky breath and it hits his nose does he notices how close they really are.

Peter makes the first move, easing forward and offering himself to her. When she understand, it takes her a second to reciprocate, but she meets him the rest of the way. 

The kiss is delicate and easy, just lips to lips for now. All those nights spent practicing how to kiss on his pillow and watching YouTube tutorials seem useless now. It’s undeniably natural for Peter to cup a hand on the side of her neck to deepen the kiss. He doesn’t expect her to press her lips harder onto his, but when she does, his heart leaps out of his stomach and back into his chest. 

As quickly as the kiss began, it ends when Michelle pulls away first. Her eyes are closed tight and a pink tint glows beneath her light brown skin. 

He waits for a snappy quip about how weird he is or even a slap to the face, but she does neither. Instead of responding in that unbothered Michelle way he’s fallen for, she glides passed him to the stairs, climbs out of the pool, and vanishes into her house through the screen door. 

Peter wants to be confused, but that came out of nowhere. They’ve hung out plenty of times with just the two of them since the skating rink, so why did they do this now? He surprised himself, but Michelle even more because he did not think she would have ever kissed back. Even with his helpless crush on a back burner, there had never been anything outside of a solid friendship between them. 

Did he screw this up? Does she hate him now? He doesn’t blame her if she does. He would go down as Idiot of the Year if he really did just lose a good friend because he doesn’t know how to control his stupid, erratic feelings for everyone he meets. 

An estimated ten minutes pass before Peter gets out of the pool, dries himself off, and puts his shirt on.

Once inside the house, he follows the water trail she left behind to the kitchen, where she’s leaning against the marble island. Her eyes are cast downward, zoned out and blinking only so often at the damp dish towel balled in between hands. She’d taken the time to replace her wet outfit with leggings and an oversized t-shirt, as well as comb her hair out. 

Peter can’t read her vibe. Is she mad?  _ She definitely hates him.  _

Michelle notices him watching at the kitchen entrance, but doesn’t say anything. 

Peter clears his throat and tentatively enters the kitchen all the way, moving slowly enough in case he needs to dodge out of her way should she decide to cast a spell on him. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, fidgeting under her intense examination. “I don’t, I, um, just—” He swallows and tries again. “I’m stupid. That wasn’t cool.” 

Michelle stands from her curved stance over the island and tosses the dish towel onto the counter. It takes her only a second to round the furniture to stand before him, leaving just enough space between them, but it’s the longest second ever. 

“That was…” Her sentence trails off. “I don’t know what that was.” 

“You know everything,” he reminds her jokingly, but it doesn’t come off as such. “Like, don’t you?” 

“I do,” she agrees instinctively.  “It’s just  _ this stuff _ I don’t know about.” 

“Stuff like…” He prompts. 

Michelle crosses her arms over her chest. “Feelings.” 

“You said you don’t have those.” 

Her eyelids flutter at the same time she cocks her head, silently challenging him. “I  _ didn’t _ ,” she corrects him. 

Peter nods. “What changed?”

Michelle isn’t the type to run from confrontation even if she is embarrassed. She’s honest even when she doesn’t want to be. 

“I didn’t expect it to happen, but…” She begins, timid for once. “You came out of nowhere.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I don’t know. I really don’t, okay, stupid?” she says tensely, but Peter doesn’t take offense. “There’s a lot I have to figure out when it comes to that kinda stuff, but I like you, okay? Like,  _ like _ you.” 

Peter’s eyes widen. “ _ Oh _ .” 

“Don’t  _ ‘oh’ _ me.” 

“No, I mean  _ ‘oh _ ,’ in, like, a good way. I like you, too. Like  _ like _ you. I just never said anything ‘cus I thought you’d cast a spell on me and turn me into a roach.” 

Michelle smirks. “I have been working on my craft.” 

“Yeah, you’re great at it!” Peter says and shakes his head to himself. “When you were talking about stuff you gotta figure out, what did you mean?” 

This is the most open Peter has seen Michelle, and she shows no signs of backing away even if she wants to. “I like you, but I don’t want anything from you in  _ that _ way.”

“What way?” 

“I don’t wanna date you,” she tells him. “You’re a good friend to me, and I like us that way. As friends and just friends.” 

Relieved, Peter touches his chest and grins. “Same! I like having you as a friend, and I don’t wanna mess it up with whatever it is we just did.” 

“ _ You _ kissed  _ me _ .” 

“You kissed back.” 

“Fair enough,” she says with a brisk eye roll and points between them. “But we’re not gonna let this get in the way of us, are we?” 

“Of course not.” 

“We don’t want each other,” she repeats to clarify. “ _ That _ way.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“I don’t wanna have sex with you.” 

Peter’s head shoots up, face reddening and cheeks burning. “Michelle!” 

She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying.” 

“I got it,” he insists, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Just don’t ever say that again. You don’t have to rub it in. I already feel dumb enough about—“

“I’m asexual.” 

Peter pauses, searching her face for further explanation. “A sexual what?”

“You’re so dumb, oh my god,” his friend groans, massaging her temples. “Asexual, as in I don’t feel a sexual attraction towards  _ anybody _ , not just you.” 

“Oh,” he says again, taking it in. “I’ve never heard of that. Uh, when did you first know that?” 

She thinks about it for a moment. “I’ve always felt it, or more appropriately  _ never  _ felt it.” 

“So, that kiss wasn’t…” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he leaves the statement open. He feels stupid among other things, but mostly like a total jackass. 

“It was nice,” she assures him. “Sweet, actually. I suppose a deep part of me liked it for what it was. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to do.” 

_ For as long as I’ve liked you? _ “Yeah, it did. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything.”  

“We’ll just write it off as a friendly peck.” 

That solution eases all of Peter’s nerves. “I like that.” 

“But it you ever dunk me into a pool like that again, I will decapitate you.” 

“I believe you.”   
  
  
  


Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon goes smoothly and without any tension.

At five o’clock, Michelle’s mother calls and tells her to get dinner started, so Peter assists where he can. Steve does all the cooking at home, and Peter has watched him enough times to know how to boil spaghetti noodles.

Even though their incident has passed, Peter cannot stop thinking about how honest Michelle was. She never opens up, especially about herself and then she went and told him she is asexual. 

Maybe it’s time he’s honest, too. 

“You know how you asked me why I would lose it?” he says, pretending that turning the heat on the burner down is the most interesting thing ever to avoid her eyes. “When we were talking about that boy with the Jewish Italian boy and the research assistant.” 

Michelle nods, carefully cutting up onions on the adjacent counter. “What about it?”

Peter inhales, mustering up courage. “Well, I get it, ya know? About the boy. I think I’m bisexual.” 

The sharp knife tapping against the cutting board ceases. Peter glances up and she’s already looking back at him.

“You think?” she replies. 

“I’m not totally sure. The first and only person I’ve ever, like, done stuff with is a boy and I don’t know if it’s just him I like or men in general,” Peter explains. 

Michelle hums thoughtfully. “The boy from the book had the same dilemma. He knew he liked girls, but he wasn’t sure about whether his attraction to the research assistant was valid or not,” she tells him, setting the knife down. “I guess you can find out how he did.” 

“How’s that?” 

“I told you. He masturbates with a peach.” 

Not a single sign of mirth can be detected on Michelle’s end. Peter shakes his head. 

“He  _ does not _ do that.” 

“Why would I lie?” 

“To make me look dumb.” 

“I don’t have to do much to make  _ that _ happen. Also, you may look dumb doing it, but you won’t know until you try,  which you’re definitely thinking about.” 

Along with the witchcraft she practices, Michelle must study mind reading. Peter huffs and puts distance between them just in case. 

“So what if I am? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing.”

Michelle does a half-turn to dig around in the refrigerator until she pulls out a ripe peach. Peter watches her rinse it and dig the pit out with a knife in fascination before presenting the fruit to him. 

His focus shifts from the debauch fruit to Michelle’s serious expression. She’s not joking. 

“Right now? Here?”

“No time like the present.” 

“Like, in front of you?” 

“Well, you know I’m not getting anything out of it.”

“You don’t think it’s a little weird?” 

She nods. “It definitely is.” 

All Peter needs is to be slightly convinced. 

He takes the peach from her hand, inspecting it and wondering how this is supposed to work. Despite the things he and Johnny get up to doing, he’s not at that freak-nasty level that appoints him to put his penis inside of a peach. 

However, that doesn’t stop him from looking back and forth between his crotch and the peach as he lowers it to his swim trunks. With enough nerve worked up, Peter pulls his swim trunks away from his waist and tries to realistically calculate in his head what he’s supposed to do. 

Thankfully the millisecond Peter finds the confidence to really go for it, Michelle’s hand flies forward to slap the fruit clean out of his grasp.

She shrieks giddily and it’s a funny sound coming from her. “You were really gonna do it!” she accuses, hand to her neck clutching imaginary pearls.

Peter hands fly upward in disbelief. “What the hell do you mean?!  _ You _ just told me to!” 

Her gasp is big and dramatic. “If I told you to jump off of a bridge, would you do it?” 

“Um, yeah?” he yelps, nodding like the answer is obvious. “I’m sure if you jumped, you’d know it’d be a safe landing, so absolutely!”

“You were really gonna sit here in my kitchen and defile that poor peach,” she says, shaking her head back and forth. “If my mom didn’t enjoy your company so much, I would kick you out,  _ nasty _ .” 

  
  


 

Spaghetti dinner with Michelle and her mom, Mrs. Jones, is an easygoing time. Mrs. Jones offers for Peter to stay for dessert, but Bucky arrives to pick him up before they can finish cleaning the kitchen. 

Any worries that Peter had about ruining their friendship diminishes when she sends him on his way with an invitation to hang out after he gets out of work and a remark about how much of a loser he is.   
  
\--  
  


Dinner with Steve and Bucky is a regular occurrence that Peter can do in his sleep. Dinner with Johnny is a mess of nerves, but a good time regardless. Dinner with Steve, Bucky, and Johnny has Peter questioning everything from what he should wear to if he should drown himself in the lake instead. 

If he puts on something fancy to impress Johnny, he’ll tip Steve and Bucky off. If he dresses in his sweatpants and t-shirt like usual, Johnny might think he’s a slob.

What kind of dinner is this anyway? Would Steve have even invited Johnny over if Peter weren’t here? Are Bucky and Johnny that close as manager and employee to just invite him over for dinner? Isn’t that an HR issue?

Peter huffs at his reflection, trying to figure out what to do with his appearance. He already showered and shaved the whiskers above his lip. He supposed he could leave his hair as is; putting product in it will show too much effort for what is supposed to be a casual dinner with a family friend. 

The digital clock on his phone reads that it’s half past six, and Johnny should be arriving soon. His heart hasn’t been able to stop its erratic beating since Steve picked him up from Michelle’s house earlier that day. 

The thing is that he can’t pinpoint  _ why _ he’s nervous. Johnny wouldn’t just blurt out that they’re dating, and if Peter stuffs his face with enough mashed potatoes, neither should he. Even if it does come out, what would Steve do? Would he be upset, and if so, why would he be upset? 

Peter exhales again, shaking his head to rattle off the anxiety. “You’re cool,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re fine. Everything going to be fine. It’s just dinner. Everyone eats dinner.” 

To play it safe, Peter puts on a pair of nice-looking track pants and the t-shirt Bucky got him for his birthday. He doesn’t look dressed up while also maintaining not looking completely homeless. 

“Nice shirt,” Bucky comments over the sizzle in the skillet on the stove when Peter enters the kitchen. 

Peter smiles proudly and scans the room. “You guys needs help with anything?” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m good in here,” he says, flipping the meat. “Your Dad might need help in the dining room.” 

In the dining room, Steve is setting placemats onto the table, humming to the opera music playing on the Bluetooth speaker. He’s dressed similarly to Peter, and it boosts his confidence in his outfit. 

“Need help?” Peter asks. 

Steve looks over the room, still humming as he looks for something for Peter to do. “Yeah, buddy, get the plates and silverware,” he instructs, and together they set the table immaculately. 

The doorbell rings throughout the first level just as Bucky sets the last of the meal on the table, and Steve leaves the dining room to let Johnny in. From the kitchen, Peter can hear their friendly greeting, and the mere sound of Johnny’s voice makes his heart collapse at the same time his cheeks turn scarlet. 

“Word of advice: don’t make it so obvious, kid,” Bucky whispers to Peter out of nowhere, and the boy narrows his eyes up at him. 

“Huh?” he says. 

Bucky doesn’t get to elaborate when Johnny and Steve enter the dining room. Both men are laughing while Steve’s arm is tucked around Johnny’s back like they’re college buddies catching up, and it makes Peter wonder just how close they are. 

“Johnny!” Bucky exclaims, tipping his half-empty beer bottle in their direction. “Long time, no see.” 

Johnny smirks with a lighthearted eye roll. “Nice to see you too, boss. What’s it been, like, five hours since I seen you?” Without missing a beat, Johnny turns his attention to Peter. “What’s up, man?” 

The greeting is absurdly casual, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. His mouth says one thing, but the kind way Johnny is looking at him says another. Peter wishes he could rush over to him and greet him with a kiss and a tight hug. 

“Hey,” Peter swallows. “ _ Bro _ .” 

Johnny bites his lip to keep from laughing, and averts his gaze elsewhere so not to make anything obvious. It’s hard to casually refer to someone as just “man” or “bro” when it was in the same week that said bro made said man come in his jeans for the second time this summer. 

Steve clears his throat to regain the attention of the room, and gestures to the steaming food on the table. “So, everything’s ready. Johnny, the bathroom is down the hall if you wanna wash your hands,” Steve says, pointing to his son. “Peter, you wanna—?” 

“Um, uh, yeah,” Peter agrees, making his way towards the hall bathroom. He doesn’t look to see if Johnny is following until they’re out of earshot and sight of the dining room.

The second Peter turns to face him, Johnny crowds him against the nearest wall and wastes no time taking his breath away in a searing yet brief kiss. They both stifle their moans the best they can and end up breaking apart to giggle amongst themselves. 

“Hey, bro,” Johnny imitates him and Peter covers his face. 

“Oh, god, shut up. I didn’t say that, okay? It just came out. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to, ya know…” Peter exhales, eyes drifting down to Johnny’s biceps bulging from his soft, black, short-sleeved shirt. “Be cool and pretend I’m not insanely attracted to you,” he finishes with a shameless shrug. 

Johnny’s eyes take in Peter the same way. “Look, I know it’s gonna be a lil’ weird trying to act like you don’t want me to father your children in front of your Dad and all, but we be a’ight,” he whispers, creeping a hand under Peter’s shirt which rushes chills down the boy’s spine. “You look cute today.” 

“Thank you.” Peter looks down shyly, and his cheeks are going to burst with how hard he’s smiling. “We, uh, gotta wash our hands.” 

Even after saying that, neither of them move immediately. Instead, Peter lets Johnny’s warm hand caress against his stomach for a second, and he wishes they could stay like this a little longer. 

  
  
  


To avoid suspicion, Johnny and Peter sit across from one another instead of adjacent at the round dining table. Throughout the meal, they exchange sneaky glances that Steve and Bucky don't catch, and there’s a gleeful rush to having such a secret between them. 

Steve, Bucky, and Johnny discuss sports, TV shows, cars, and other topics Peter doesn’t know how to weigh in on. He enjoys watching the three of them banter back and forth anyway. 

Steve talks to Johnny like they’re regular friends, and Peter wonders why his Dad was so apprehensive when Peter mentioned him before. Steve isn’t the type to be nice for show and bad talk someone behind their back, so what is the deal? 

In the middle of Bucky telling a story about work, a stray foot brushes Peter’s calf and the move sends goosebumps along Peter’s arms. Peter stops chewing, keeping his attention downward at the plate of food before him. Johnny doesn’t appear affected as he smoothly joins in on the talk as though he isn’t rubbing Peter’s foot with his own under the table. 

Peter starts chewing again and returns the gesture with just as much subtlety.   
  
  
  


Halfway through the meal, Steve turns the conversation to Johnny, and that’s when Peter gets interested. 

“How’s school been going?” Steve asks, poking at his steak. “You’re still doing those online classes?” 

Johnny nods. “Yeah, school’s good, sir. I just signed up for my fall classes, so I should be finished by January.” 

“That’s great!” Steve sounds genuinely enthused. “How’s your sister?” 

“Sue is fine. She’s out of town though.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve replies with a nod. Just when Peter thinks the interaction is over, Steve comes back with, “How did you and Peter meet?”

At the sound of his name, Peter abruptly pulls his foot back and straightens up in his chair. Bucky side-eyes him, noticing how tense his shoulders have gotten. Johnny’s initial surprise at the sudden question vanishes the second Steve and Bucky look up at him, awaiting an answer. 

“Peter and I met at Shuri’s kickback a few weeks ago,” he tells Steve casually, and pops a piece of broccoli in his mouth. “He was breakdancing to Cardi B.” 

“Then, ya know, like I said, Dad, we just hit it off,” Peter interjects. “We have a lot in common. We’re good friends. We like the same stuff, like, um, uh—” He pauses and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Drag racing.” 

Bucky’s eyebrow scrunch. “Since when do you like drag racing?” 

“I’ve been following RuPaul’s career for a long time,” he replies in all seriousness. Johnny snorts and fondly shakes his head at his plate. 

“Okay, then?” Steve says with a wondering lilt in his voice. “I was gonna say it’s nice that you two met. In fact, I was really hoping for it when Peter first came up here.” 

“Really?” Peter says. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, I thought it’d be really good for Peter to have a role model figure close in age.” 

Peter nearly chokes on his bite of macaroni and cheese, but covers it up with a cough. Johnny’s lips are in a tight line. All it takes is one glance between them to know they’re thinking the same thing. 

_ Role model. _

“Yeah, I was thinking the same,” Bucky agrees. “I’m glad you and Peter are hanging out. I don’t know a guy better than you, Johnny.” 

Johnny scoffs. “Keep that in mind next time you tell me to do inventory on a Saturday night.” 

“Where’d you guys go the other night?” Steve cuts in again. 

Peter waits for Johnny to answer. 

“Just this lil’ karaoke joint up the way,” he tells him, picking around at his food. “We sang a bit of good ol’ fashioned Springsteen to put some hair on our chests.” 

_ He’s good. _ Peter nods in agreement. “Yeah, Johnny even said he’d take me to the gym and teach me about weight lifting,” he adds, thinking of more heterosexual activities. “Then we might listen to some of that new Kanye West? Hunting. Um, maybe even skateboarding if I can work myself up to it.”

Although Steve and Bucky seem convinced, Johnny can’t help letting out a built-up laugh at watching Peter ramble. “Skateboarding,” he repeats. 

The point is clear that Steve and Bucky see them just as they intended as friends, but it doesn’t unease Peter any less. 

There are pros and cons to them assuming Peter and Johnny are only platonically involved. 

The downside is that when—or if—Peter decides to tell them the truth, it’ll be tough news to break. Is it at all appropriate for Peter to be dating his Dad’s boyfriend’s employee, let alone act like he isn’t? 

The upside is that he won’t have an overdramatic discussion about dating while simultaneously telling his Dad and Bucky that he’s probably bisexual. Peter would sooner bury himself alive than have Johnny endure the shovel talk from either of them. 

Peter’s prayers are answered when Bucky randomly chimes in about a skateboarding accident he saw on TV and the topic of conversation shifts. 

  
  
  


After dinner, Johnny offers to help clean the kitchen, but Bucky declines the help in favor of pulling Peter into the kitchen by the collar and insisting they’ll do it. Steve and Johnny resume their discussion about motorcycles—or whatever it is that these men seem to always talk about—into the living room. 

Bucky waits until the dishwasher is only halfway loaded to regard Peter with a Cheshire Cat’s grin. “You’re so full of shit.” 

The wet plate in Peter’s hand slips, but he catches it before it falls. “Huh?” he says, completely caught off guard. 

“You heard me.” 

“What’d I do?” 

“You know what you did,” he replies and then pitches his voice comically to sound like Peter’s. “We’re good  _ friends _ . We have a lot of  _ friendly things _ in common because we’re just  _ bros _ who are  _ platonic _ .” 

Peter narrows his eyes up at the side of his face, playing stupid as best he can. If he denies Bucky knowing anything, maybe in turn he really knows nothing. 

He blinks. That hurts his brain to think about. 

“I don’t sound like that.” 

“Listen, kid, I get why you wanna keep this on the down-low for now. Your secret is safe with me, though,” he promises. Despite his playful tone, Peter believes him. “You’re a worse liar than your Dad and terrible under pressure.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“I thought I was gonna lose my shit about that role model bullshit Steve was talking about.” 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” he prompts quickly. “Food was pretty good.” 

“Thanks, kid,” Bucky says, washing off another plate before handing it to Peter. “Yeah, when I did my sentence, I had a lot of time to read cookbooks or whatever.” 

The boy’s head whips up. “So, you  _ have _ been to prison?” he asks and then snaps his fingers. “ _ I knew it _ !” 

Bucky rolls his eyes with a resigned sigh. “I haven’t been to prison, but your Dad did a night in jail one time.” 

“My Dad?” Peter repeats incredulously. “My Dad, Steve Rogers?” 

“His ass used to get in trouble all the time,” Bucky recalls, handing over another plate. “Nearly put your poor grandma in an early grave on numerous occasions with how many fights he used to get in.” 

Peter can’t imagine it. “That’s unexpected. Dad’s never been aggressive.”  _ Not even with Pop and he can be quite irritating.  _

“Oh, this wasn’t petty bar fights or anything brutal like that. He would fight anybody within a five mile radius for so much as catcalling a woman. Shit, I ain’t even tell you ‘bout the time he got himself arrested for calling out a cop for racially profiling Sam.” 

“Really?  _ My Dad _ ? _ ”  _

“Yeah, he was a little spitfire of a social justice warrior back in the day.” Bucky nudges Peter’s shoulder with his elbow. “You guys are so much alike that it’s almost disgusting. You both are awkward smartasses that can’t lie and get the hell on my nerves.” 

Peter is smart enough to know that that is Bucky speak for  _ I like you _ , and his smile couldn’t be any wider.   
  
  
  


It’s nearing ten o’ clock when Johnny announces he has a shift at his uncle’s garage the next morning and has to take off. Unsure of where he should be among the departure, Peter stands a ways away, leaning against the wall and watching.    
  
“Thank you for dinner, guys,” Johnny tells Bucky and Steve on the way to the front door, leftovers in one hand and car keys in the other. “I know exactly where I’m coming for Thanksgiving this year.”    
  
“You’re always welcome here.” Steve claps his shoulder. “I’ll bring the bike by tomorrow, okay?”    
  
“I’ll be there, sir,” he assures and salutes Bucky. “See you, boss.”    
  
“Kid,” Bucky says as a goodbye, moving behind Peter to lightly push him forward. “Peter will walk you out.”    
  
“Yeah, Pete, walk Johnny to his car,” Steve instructs and opens the front door.   
  
Pleasantly caught off guard, Peter stammers out “oh, okay,” and does as he’s told. Similarly to earlier, Johnny follows, waving goodbye to Steve until the door closes.   
  
“That was the most painful thing I’ve ever gone through,” Peter confesses. He can finally exhale and be himself with Johnny.    
  
“I thought we did fine,” Johnny says, putting an arm around Peter and pulling him in close. Easing into him, Peter puts an arm around his middle and interlocks his fingers with Johnny’s hand draped over his shoulder.    
  
“I literally said we would go to the gym and skateboarding, and those sound like the most painful activities ever,” he reminds him. “We’re not gonna do that, are we? Say no. Please say no.”    
  
“You can come to the gym with me, but I’m not weight training you.”    
  
“Thank goodness.”    
  
“You can work the treadmill and make me feel all big and buff,” he quips, leaning over to rapidly pepper Peter’s cheeks with loud, put on kisses.   
  
“Your ego, I swear.” Peter pretends to be annoyed but it doesn’t last long when Johnny pecks ticklishly along his neck. “Stop, you’re the worst,” he giggles, putting little effort in getting away.    
  
They take longer than necessary to get to Johnny’s car, but when they do, their hands stay interlocked even as they stand facing each other.    
  
“Thanks for having me over.”    
  
Peter beams up at him. “You’re welcome.”    
  
After a comfortably silent moment of being in each other’s presence, Johnny takes a step towards Peter.  “Can I kiss you?”    
  
Peter answers by getting on the tips of his toes and bringing Johnny’s lips to his with a hand behind his neck. For what Peter lacks in lips, Johnny makes up for ten-fold, resulting in Peter growing an addiction to kissing this man.    
  
“My breath smells like steak sauce,” Peter points out when he pulls away, cringing. “Sorry. I’m making it weird. I always make it weird.”   
  
“It’s cute,” Johnny tells him and checks his watch. “I really gotta go, babe. I’ll call you when I get a break tomorrow, okay?”   
  
Peter’s heart plummets to his stomach, trampolines right back into his chest and resurfaces in his eyes as a cartoon. If he weren’t so clearly holding Johnny’s hand, he’d swear this is one of those dreams where he melts away   
  
_ Babe _ .    
  
“Yeah,” he replies wistfully. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, um, yeah. You can call me tomorrow. I’ll pick up the phone no matter what Dua Lipa says.”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“No one,” he says quickly and kisses him one final time. “I’ll see you, okay?”    
  
“A’igh. Bye, babe.”    
  
Peter walks back to the house with an air in his stride, replaying being called “babe” over so much that he begins whispering it to himself. 

He’s Johnny’s babe, and this is because Johnny said so himself.    
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, HalcyonSeasons is the greatest beta ever and we makes hits every time. Secondly, I wanna say thank you to everyone reading the fic and writing such nice comments. I’ve seen this story pop up on The Stucky Library on Tumblr a few times, and after having several heart attacks, I cried a few times! It’s always nice to see people actually enjoy the work you do. 
> 
> If anyone would like to reach me on [Tumblr](http://www.karenthesuitlady.tumblr.com) I’ll always be there to discuss the story and other fandom bullshit!

A full day at Midtown Tech is an adventure compared to a four hour class at the local driving school.

Peter’s bottom has gone numb several times from sitting in his seat for so long. Along with that, his mind has drifted elsewhere as the off-duty gym coach teaching the class plays the third instructional parking video that day. There also isn’t much to look at in the one-room building but the other students and pseudo-inspirational posters on the white walls.

 At the two hour mark, the teacher—Peter still can’t remember his name after five classes—releases them for their fifteen minute break. Having forgotten to grab his lunch off the counter this morning, Peter exits the classroom and rounds the building to get snacks from the vending machine.

 Just as he’s punching in the code for a bag of trail mix, a couple of girls from the same class exit the building, chattering as they come behind up and wait their turn. Peter slides another dollar into the machine for a second bag with no intent to eavesdrop, but he can’t help picking up bits and pieces from his classmates’ conversation.

 “So, wait a second, you had already sucked his dick before?” the first girl asks.

 “Yeah, he completely forgot about me throwing his XBOX in the pool,” the second girl replies.

“How the hell didn’t he break up with you, bitch?”

“A little bit of head goes a long way, girl!”

Peter pauses, pretending to look for something else he might want. He wouldn’t know what to do if someone tossed his PlayStation in a pool, but he knows receiving oral as an apology wouldn’t fix anything.

Not that he’s ever experienced that.

 “I play him every single time and he doesn’t even know it,” she continues arrogantly. “Every time he even thinks about leaving me, I throw some ass his way and he comes to his senses.”

They laugh, but it’s not at all funny.

 Peter frowns, presses the code, and retrieves his second bag of trail mix. He moves to the beverage machine beside the snacks to fake like he’s getting water, but he’s really interested on what else they have to say.

 “He never says it, but whenever I feel like Paul is getting bored of me, I give him some and he buys me stuff,” the second girl offers. She glances at Peter disinterestedly and then resumes checking her nails.

 It shouldn’t, but that last statement sticks with Peter.

 He and Johnny haven’t done anything overly sexual—aside from making out—since their date. Johnny hasn’t shown it, but Peter isn’t sure how he’d deal if he ever gets bored with how they are. He enjoys their dynamic even if they don’t look like they belong in the same social circle.

 They’re not exclusively boyfriends, which leaves them allowed to do whatever they want with other people. The thing about it is that whatever those things are, Peter wants to do them together. Johnny hasn’t shared if he feels the same.

 Maybe he's bored with Peter?

 Johnny said he has a morning shift at his uncle’s shop and then he’s closing at the hardware store, but that leaves a window of time where Johnny could be doing god knows what with some other out-of-town twink. Johnny could have _anybody_ he wants, and Peter is baffled why he chooses to hang around _him_ of all people.

 Peter exhales and gets an iced tea from the machine.

 As weird as these girls are, they might be onto something.

 

 - - 

 

Winter is parked intimidatingly outside the business center at four on the dot. Bucky gets out of the front seat and hops into the passenger’s side when Peter exits the building.

 Peter skips across the parking lot to the vehicle, tosses his notebook in the back, and hauls himself into the front seat. As usual, Bucky’s radio is blaring pop music unfitting of his aesthetic, so Peter turns the radio down.

 “You’re supposed to put your seatbelt on before you even think about the radio,” Bucky says, putting his own seatbelt on with emphasis. “Eighteen-wheeler comes outta nowhere and T-bones you, your skinny ass goes flying out that window, and now I gotta tell your Dad that you died because you thought the radio was too loud.”

 “Eighteen-wheeler? What do you think this is?  _Final Destination_?”

 “Don’t get smart. You never know, kid.”

 Peter rolls his eyes, smirking, and puts his seatbelt on. “You either have a really active imagination or you’ve seen one too many action movies,” he says, adjusting the mirrors and the seat so that his feet are closer to the pedals. “Are we driving home or somewhere else?” 

“Same place as yesterday.”

 Peter is comfortable behind the wheel and Bucky says he’s a natural. He’s not nervous or anxious when he drives, which makes the rides he takes with Bucky a breeze. Although Steve hasn’t been in the car with Peter, he compliments Bucky’s teaching and how swiftly Peter learns. They all predict he’ll have a license by the end of the summer. 

Bucky’s driving lesson plan after Peter gets out of school includes an hour of driving around and parking in an empty parking lot with an hour and a half of driving on main roads. He also has Peter driving to work, into town, and the hardware store. Peter lives for every minute of controlling the car and impressing Bucky with how well he does.

 Dinner is hot and ready on the kitchen counter when Peter and Bucky get home ten past eight.

 Steve is slowly pacing around the living room absently, cell phone to his ear with generic hold music playing through the speakers. Despite looking bored with defeat, he manages a small smile when Bucky and Peter enter through the garage hallway.

 “Who’re you on the phone with?” Bucky asks his boyfriend, removing his shoes and leather jacket to place them in the coat closet.

 Steve grimaces. “I’ve been trying to get through to the decorator for half an hour now, but the assistant says the office is busy.”

 “Try his personal number,” Bucky suggests, approaching Steve to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “So pretty.”

 “Quit being mushy, there’s a child present,” Steve deadpans. “I made salmon and broccoli. Go eat and please don’t touch the cake in the fridge. It’s for dessert.”

 “You ruin all the fun,” Bucky grumbles.

 Peter removes his shoes and goes to the kitchen where Bucky is definitely taking a bite of the very half-eaten cake Steve just told him not to touch.

 “And you say I’m hard-headed,” Peter quips, getting two plates from the cabinet.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Bucky replies, taking the plate offered to him. “I said you’re stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he says, getting a piece of salmon from the frying pan and scooping broccoli onto his plate. “Why is my Dad talking to a decorator?”

 Bucky serves himself and hands Peter a fork from the dishwasher. “I thought he told you. We found a place in Queens, they accepted our offer, and we hope to be all moved in after Labor Day.”

 “Oh,” Peter says. This is definitely news to him. “When did you guys do all this?”

 “We were gonna tell you sooner, but you were pretty mad at me for existing, so we kept it under wraps,” Bucky says and gets himself a beer. “Where’d you think I went when I took my trip earlier this month?”

 “I just assumed it was for work,” Peter says and follows Bucky to the den. “You were looking at the new house?”

 “That among other things.” Bucky reclines in his favorite chair, feet propped up and television remote in hand. “It’s a pretty spot, kid. Four bedroom, three bath, big enough backyard for a dog or something but not a pool, which is a bummer, but it’s whatever. It’s close enough to Midtown for you to just take your regular train and—”

 “Why do we need four bedrooms if there’s only three of us?” Peter interrupts, thoughtfully chewing his food.

 At that question, unlike himself, Bucky actually looks embarrassed like he said something he didn’t mean to. He scrunches his face up and idly stabs his fork into the fish.

 “Well, kid, there will come a day where it won’t be _just_ the three of us.”

Peter narrows his gaze, not understanding. “You’re gonna give whole room to a dog?”

Bucky turns back to himself and rolls his eyes. “I really wonder if you’re this clueless or if it’s just a defense mechanism.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I say it won’t always just be the three of us, I mean your Dad and I will eventually have children together,” Bucky tells him, visibly annoyed that he has to explain that. “I’m not getting any younger, so why not?”

Peter takes all of that in and imagines a scenario in which Bucky and Steve have children and he has a sibling. He’s been an only child all his life and whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s spoiled because of it. With the lifestyle he’s used to, could Peter properly adjust to having a little brother or sister?

To be fair, Peter will be out of the house and away at college by the time Steve and Bucky get around to having a baby, but it’s still weird to think about.

It’s weird to think about Bucky specifically having a baby. A little girl or boy running around with wavy, dark brown hair, grey-blue eyes, and olive-toned skin wouldn’t be a bad thing, but it’s hard seeing Bucky in the nurturing paternal role that comes naturally to Steve.

This discovery sparks a multitude of questions.

Peter sets his half-empty dinner plate on the coffee table in front of the sofa and leans back into the cushion with his arms crossed. “Why didn’t you ever have children of your own? I mean, like, you wanted to be a dad, right?”

Bucky stares at the flash of the television screen for a moment, thinking and contemplating on how he should answer. It’s a bold question that Peter means no harm in asking, but both of them can tell by how long it takes Bucky to respond that the answer is deeper than anticipated. That embarrassed expression from before flashes briefly before Bucky puts his plate next to Peter’s and turns his head to the floor as though he’s ashamed.

“Of course, I wanted children, Peter,” he mumbles, eyes cast downward to the carpet while he twiddles his thumbs. “Absolutely, I did. It’s just that the only person I ever wanted kids with ended up marrying someone else.”

“That sucks.”

“Shit happens.”

“So, not even an ex or anybody? Maybe adoption?”

“Yeah, I tried adopting, but you’d be surprised how hard it is to do so as an openly gay single male,” he scoffs bitterly. “And I’m glad I never had kids with some of my exes. It wouldn’t have been fair to me, them, or the kid if I just went out and had a baby with anybody.”

“That person who got married was my Dad, huh?” he asks.

Bucky nods.

“You’ve been crazy about my Dad for, like—” Peter pauses to do mental math. “Twenty-seven years and you chose until he was getting a divorce to say something?”

He nods again. “Loser of the Year,” he sing-songs, pointing to himself. “This guy, right here!”

“What took you so long, then?” Peter is one to ask considering he’d been gone on Liz for four years before ever saying anything.

“We were just kids,” Bucky says, looking over at Peter. “I don’t even know if it was love when we met or if I was just happy someone was nice to the new kid in town.”

“You’re not from Brooklyn?”

“My family is from this little farm in Indiana. My old man passed when I was thirteen and my mother got this job opportunity that moved us to New York where I met Steve and all our friends,” he explains. “I was sixteen when Mom remarried and Becca was born.”

“Are you guys close or does the age gap make it weird?”

“Becks and I are thick as thieves. Would I have loved to have grown up with her? Yeah. Is it amazing that she always sees me as the cool older brother ‘cus she wasn’t there to ever see me being a total jackass growing up? Also yes.”

That’s what it will be like for Peter if they have children any time soon. It could be pretty cool.

“Was Dad your first friend when you moved here?”

Bucky sits back and gets comfortable in the cushion. “Yeah, he was and I was over the moon for him within months. He was the shy and skinny type, but he stood up for himself, and even though I had to pull him out of some bullshit every other day, I liked it.”

“Can I ask why you never told him you were in love with him?”

Bucky shrugs. “Just one of those things I never did. I didn’t think it’d work ‘cus our friendship was so solid, and I didn’t wanna lose it. In all honesty, I was being a pussy and it ended up being too late when he met Stark.”

To actively be in love with someone for twenty-seven years—eighteen of which that someone is married—sounds masochistic and sad in every sense of the words. Bucky doesn’t seem like the type to torture himself and sulk in his feelings for over half of his life, which must mean Steve is really worth it. This must be meant to be if they found themselves here after all this time.

“Gosh, I never would’ve imagined you and my Dad together,” Peter tells him honestly, fidgeting with a loose thread at the hem of his shorts. “You guys seems so different. But it’s a good different. Like, a compatible different. I’m not saying that to be, like, mean. I’m just saying.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky gives him a hopeful look. “I never would’ve seen it either.”

“Hey, am I interrupting something?” Steve says, coming in and leaning on the den’s entryway, phone still in hand but no longer playing music.

“Just the kid and I talking about how he ran over a mailbox on the way here,” Bucky deadpans and Peter whips his head around to glare at him.

“Sounds fun,” Steve says with a grin. “The ID was saying there’s some last minute stuff we need to decide on about the house, and insists we take a trip up there soon to make everything go faster since selecting furniture online is unheard of.”

 “We?” both Bucky and Peter repeat.

Steve exhales tiredly. “Yeah,” he says and shakes his head at Peter. “Not you. You’re staying here.” 

“Why do I have to go?” Bucky groans and it wavers on becoming a whine.

“Buck, you promised you’d be involved with this stuff,” Steve reminds him. “Helping to finish the basement and picking out some furniture won’t kill you.”

Bucky, definitely pretending that this whole process doesn’t excite him, rolls his eyes and sighs in defeat. “Fine. When are we leaving?”

“I told him we’d get there by tomorrow, so pack a bag.”

Peter frantically turns to his Dad now. “Wait, you guys are leaving me here alone all weekend? In the house, like, by myself?”

 “Yeah?”

“Dad, it’s scary at night!”

“Peter, c’mon,” Steve says. “Nothing is gonna happen all the way out here.”

“That’s the plot of literally every horror movie! There’s some dumb, white protagonist all alone in a big empty house and some kinda serial killer comes to get them. Dad, I could get sliced up by Jason Voorhees.”

“You’ll be fine on your own for a couple of days until we get back on Monday. We’re just doing a little work for the house,” Steve reassures him, approaching him to put a caring hand on his shoulder. “And besides, Jason only comes on Friday the thirteenth and we’re miles away from Camp Crystal Lake.”

“That’s _not_ funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Peter grimaces. “Why can’t I just go with you guys?”

“C’mon, Peter. You can spend a couple of days by yourself,” Steve reasons. “I thought most kids liked staying home alone anyway.”

Peter wants to say that he’s not “most kids,” but he swallows it and settles for pouting up at his Dad.

“Don’t use that face with me,” he laughs, shaking his head fondly. “It worked when you were seven but not when you’re seventeen.”

“I’m not making a face.” Peter glowers. “This is just how I look.”

“While he continues to stall time, I’ll go pack,” Bucky grunts. He picks his plate up from the table and playfully pinches Steve’s nipple on his way out the door.

Steve looks behind him to see if Bucky is out of earshot and sits down next to Peter on the loveseat.

“Alright, now what’s really going on?” he asks, nudging Peter’s arm. “You’ve spent plenty nights by yourself when your Pop and I would go out of town.”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How?”

For starters, the house in Queens isn’t as secluded and May’s house is quite close being just a bike ride away. When Peter really thinks about it, this house is scary at night with the large windows and creaky floorboards, and he doesn’t go in any room that Steve and Bucky aren’t in besides his room.

“I can’t stay with Sam?” Peter deflects.

“Sam is still out of town.”

“What about Shuri?”

“Well, Shuri is staying in the house,” Steve tells him and then adds, “by herself. Because she’s seventeen. Like you.” 

“Okay, but that’s different.”

“How?” Steve asks again, but Peter shakes his head and waves it off.

“How am I supposed to get to work then?”

“I called Peggy already. Your shifts are covered.”

“What about food? You know I can’t cook.”

Steve squints at him. “The fridge is full and if you don’t wanna attempt to make a grilled cheese or something, you’ll survive off leftovers, cereal, or takeout. Why are you turning this into a big deal, buddy? Be honest with me.”

Peter shrugs. “It’s nothing. I’ll just be bored, I guess.”

“Peter, nobody said you can’t have friends over or go out.”

“I know. I just, ya know,” Peter stammers. “It’s just that, um, yeah. Like, this new house thing is just a lot is all.”

He has no idea what he’s trying to say, but Steve’s kind and observant examination indicates that he does.

“Is this about Pop?” Steve asks, bringing his voice to a whisper. “Buddy, this new place is thirty minutes tops away from him and May. You can still go to Midtown.”

That soothes Peter’s nerve to a certain extent. “Does Pop know?”

Steve exhales, nodding. “I talked to him about it when he came up here. He was thrilled with the idea of all of us living so close, so we can be one big, happy family.”

“I can literally hear the sarcasm, Dad,” Peter chuckles and Steve joins him.

“Yeah, your Pop is eccentric in that way. Thanksgiving should make for an interesting time.”

“You really wanna put Bucky and Pop in the same room?”

“They’re assholes, but they can pretend to like each other for a night.”

One of these days, Peter will figure out just why the two of them have beef, but Steve is in such a good mood about the house situation that he decides not to ask.

“Are you gonna be alright, Peter? Tell me the truth,” Steve encourages, rubbing the back on Peter’s neck. “You know you can tell me anything. If us leaving really bothers you this much, I don’t have an issue—”

“No, Dad,” he interupts, refusing to be the reason why his Dad sounds this sad. “I’m fine. Everything will be okay. I can take care of myself.”

“Really?” Steve’s blue eyes brighten above his toothy grin. “You're sure?”

Steve has sacrificed enough for Peter's sake in the last eighteen years, so Peter can help himself for a couple of days.

“Yeah, Dad. I’ll be fine,” the teen promises, unsure but willing. “You should probably go pack or you’ll miss your flight.”

 

 

Steve and Bucky each have a duffel bag packed and are on their way to the airport within the hour.

The second they leave the house, the emptiness dawns on Peter. To make the atmosphere feel full, he turns the living room television on and keeps the hallway lights on.

For good measure and to make him feel more at home, Peter calls May and they have a lengthy discussion about how their summers has been going. After years of deliberating, she’s began dating again and it opens the conversation to Peter’s own love life.

“There’s not much to tell,” he says to her, and even though he can’t see her face over the phone, he knows she doesn’t buy it.

 

 

Even with the background noise of the TV, the house still feels empty.

Much later that night when Peter is laying on the couch, forcing himself to fall asleep, loneliness sets in. It doesn’t dawn on Peter that he actually isn’t tired or sleepy until he sits through a few cartoons and goes through two bowls of cereal.

He’d call someone to talk, but seeing as it’s after midnight, everyone is probably asleep.

_Everyone except maybe..._

Peter gets his phone from his pocket and FaceTimes Johnny. The line rings three times before the call connects and all that can be seen on the other end is a black screen.

“Peter?” Johnny groans tiredly.

“Damn, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were asleep.”

“I’m not,” he grumbles. “I mean, I was about to be, but what’s up?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m sorry. I just wanted someone to talk to, but if you’re too sleepy—”

“Nah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per se,” Peter says, curling his index finger around a lock of his hair. “Just a little lonely is all.”

Johnny grunts, the screen shifts, and his face comes into view. “Are you okay?”

Peter nods, holding the phone up to his face but looking down in embarrassment. How is he supposed to tell this practical grown man that he doesn’t do well by himself without sounding dumb?

“Just, uh, yeah,” he stammers, shrugging. “Actually, do you think you could come over?”

Johnny’s eyebrows pull together. “It’s a little late. What’s going on?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, I know it’s late. I just felt a little lonely is all. You probably have work and stuff tomorrow. I’m sorry if I—”

“Babe, quit apologizing and tell me what’s up. Why do you feel lonely?”

“Well, Dad and Bucky left for the weekend, and I’m home alone,” he tells Johnny, finally looking up at the screen. “I guess I just wanted a little company. It’s scary out here.”

“Scared Jason’s gonna come and get you?” Johnny teases with a smirk.

“My Dad already made that joke. Both of you guys are lame.”

“Yeah, talk all that shit, but you like me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Johnny turns on the lamp in his room and the screen brightens. All Peter can see is the ceiling and what looks like Johnny putting his arm through a sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Peter asks.

“I’m coming over.”

Peter sits at attention. “I, uh, thought you said it was too late.”

Johnny finishes putting his shirt on and brings the camera to his face. “Look, you said you were scared. What kinda baby daddy would I be if I didn’t come fight off Jason, Freddy, Ghostface, and all the rest of them who might wanna kill you?”

“That sentence is not as soothing as you think it is,” Peter mutters, curling in on himself involuntarily. “Besides, Freddy Krueger only comes for people in their sleep and I’m wide awake.”

“I must warn you though. The black guy usually dies in these scenarios so you might be on your own.”

Peter bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Johnny,” he sighs, but his friend cuts him off. 

“No, I’m serious! Only time the black guy doesn’t die is in _Get Out_ and even then he got his shit rocked for messing with a white girl so I’m screwed either way, I guess.” Johnny flicks the lamp off and the jingling of his car keys can be heard.

“I can assure that my Dad and Bucky aren’t evil brain surgeons or racist hypnotists.”

“And you’re not just luring me in? Your Uncle Sam isn’t secretly your grandfather?”

“Can you just please get here?” Peter pleads. “Oh, and bring a change of clothes, too.”

“Why?” On the other end, Johnny stops walking to shoot Peter a confused look.  

“You’re spending the night,” Peter demands. “They won’t be back until Monday, and I’m not staying here by myself, so please hurry.”

“A’ight, just gimme a minute to get a bag together.”

Johnny stays on the phone with Peter until they lose connection among the trees. In the time it takes Johnny to get there, Peter brushes his teeth, washes his face, and tidies his room. This is their first night together, and he doesn’t want to put a bad taste in Johnny’s mouth.

At half past one, Johnny’s car comes down the dirt road. Peter fixes his appearance a final time in the hallway mirror before opening the door, watching him get out of his car and make his way to the entrance.

“Fancy seeing you so early in the morning,” Johnny greets him, tossing his duffel bag of clothes down the moment he’s through the threshold.

Peter shuts the door and locks it. “You got here fast.”

“I may have run over a deer to get here.”

“No more _Get Out_ references, please.”

Ecstatic to finally be around another person—especially if that person is Johnny—Peter puts his arms around his middle and tilts his head back. “Kiss?”

Johnny rolls his eyes in mock-annoyance. “I guess.”

Peter’s heart beats erratically when Johnny leans forward and pecks his lips quickly. After Peter adorably whines for more, Johnny complies a second and third time until pressing his lips fully on Peter’s and pushing his tongue into the other boy’s mouth.

 “I could kiss you all day,” Peter utters between them when they part. He looks down at their feet. “I made it weird. I do that often. I’m sorry”.

 “If we’re being honest, I like weird,” Johnny confesses, running a hand through Peter’s hair while the other caresses his arm. “Anything to make me look cooler.”

 It’s Peter’s turn to roll his eyes.

 

\- -

 

Johnny and Peter spend the better half of the early morning cuddling on the couch watching movies, playing video games in the den, nearly killing each other over a game of Candyland, and dancing to the endless playlists between the two of them until they’re tired. 

It’s five on the dot when they get hungry and Johnny makes them waffles and eggs. The day before weighs on Peter, and he can barely keep his eye open while waiting for the food to be done.

Halfway through the meal, Peter yawns, waffle in one hand with Johnny’s wrist in the other as he leads them to the stairs. He really needs to sleep.

“Where we going?” Johnny asks between chews, willingly following his sleepy boy upstairs. 

“Can’t have a sleepover if there’s no sleep to over,” Peter slurs, and even though it doesn’t make sense, Johnny goes along with it. 

Johnny whistles at the size of Peter’s bedroom when they first walk in. “Why so much space?”

“Overcompensation,” Peter mutters, falling right onto bed and humming contently with his face buried in his pillow.

“So, you want me to take the room down the hall or…?” Johnny points down the opposite direction to the room parallel to Steve and Bucky’s. His expression reads confused yet hopeful that the answer is no. “Or am I—”

Somehow Peter finds the strength to get out of the bed, take Johnny’s duffel to toss it to the side, and push the older boy onto the bed.

“And people think I’m clueless,” he mutters, lifting the covers for them to shimmy under.

“I didn’t wanna be rude and assume,” Johnny tries to explain, but Peter is not listening.

“Can we just sleep now?” he pleads, curling up to Johnny’s warm side. “We can talk about all that in the morning. Just wanna sleep. Long night of fighting serial killers.”

If Peter didn’t look so cute getting himself adjusted, Johnny would respond like a smartass.

Instead he smiles down at the boy with hearts in his eyes and whispers, “Is it okay if I take my pants off? I get get hot if I—”

“Johnny, I don’t care, just _please_ go to sleep. ”

Johnny laughs, strips himself down, and throws his sweatpants and long sleeve in the general direction of the duffle bag. Peter is already snoring by the time he gets himself settled next to him.

 

\- -

 

The insistent ring of Peter’s cell phone is what wakes him several hours later. Barely registering what time it is, Peter blindly searches the bed for the device on his bed and brings it to his ear when he finds it.

“Hello?” he grunts.

“Hey, Peter!” Steve chirps. “How was your night? Everything okay? You make out okay? Did you eat? Are you—”

“Dad.”

“I was a little worried about you, buddy. I was gonna call Peggy to check on you—”

“Dad,” Peter tries again, rubbing his eyes of crust. “Dad, please, calm down. I’m fine. Everything is fine. Yes, I ate and didn’t burn the house down.”

“That’s ‘cus I cooked,” Johnny murmurs sleepily into Peter’s neck and his breath tickles. Peter jerks away with a light chuckle, but allows the other boy to pull his body inward to spoon him.

“That’s great. I love coming home to a house that isn’t burnt down.”

“Don’t we all? How’s the house and stuff?”

Indistinct chatter and construction sounds can be heard in the background. “The house is looking good. We had to do a little renovating in the basement, but that’s about it.”

“Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Steve says. “We’re going to the furniture store later to pick out stuff. When it gets closer to school starting and we all officially move in, we can decorate your bedroom if you really want to. All we have for you right now is just a mattress, but we’re gonna get you furniture too.”

“Decorating doesn’t seem necessary if I’m gonna be going away for school a year later.”

“Yeah, I know, Pete. I just wanted to make everything as homelike as possible for you since this is a new place and with everything going on with your Pop and I.”

Peter’s eyes open.

Steve is trying to be accommodating. He wants Peter to live with him just as much as he lives with Tony. Up until now, Peter didn’t think about not primarily living with Tony for the upcoming school year.

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, Dad, we can decorate. That sounds fun.”

There’s a smile to Steve’s tone. “I can’t wait for you to see this place. It’s not as big as Pop’s place, but I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Someone calls for Steve on the other end of the line and his voice becomes distant. “Huh? Yeah, gimme a second, I’m talking to my son,” he says before coming back to the receiver.  “Hey, Peter, I’ve gotta go, but either Bucky or myself will call you later.”

“Alright, Dad.”

“Don’t burn the house down and remember to eat.”

“I got it. Seventeen, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, buddy.”

“Bye, Dad.”

Peter disconnects the call and checks the time. It’s only ten, which isn’t as late as Peter thought.

“Where’d they go?” Johnny asks.

“Queens. They bought a house a while ago and they’re just putting finishing touches on it.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, nuzzling Peter’s nape. “I keep thinking about how devastatingly heartbroken I’m gonna be when you leave me.”

“Can you stop being sarcastic for, like, a second?” Peter laughs. “I’ll be so happy if you just, for one second, be serious.”

“If I got serious on your ass, you wouldn’t like me.”

“Dramatic,” he snickers. “Go back to sleep.”

 

 - -

 

It’s early afternoon the second time Peter wakes up.  

They’re still in the spooning position except this time, the hard length of Johnny's penis lays snug against Peter’s thigh. A casual peak underneath the comforter and the sight of the bulge in Johnny’s briefs does nothing to ease Peter’s intense blushing.

Completely unaware of his own situation, Johnny snores loudly in Peter’s ear and keeps a vice-like grip around his waist. Peter caresses along Johnny’s arm gently, taking in how smooth his skin is with each glide of his fingers. His body is warm and inviting.

“Johnny,” he whispers, grinding his hips onto Johnny’s crotch. “Johnny, wake up.”

The other boy’s snoring continues. Peter frees himself from Johnny’s grasp to turn and face him. As masculine and huge as Johnny is, he resembles the likes of a puppy when he sleeps.

“Johnny,” Peter repeats, putting a hand forward to touch the faded tattoo on his bare chest. Johnny’s pectoral flinches, but he doesn’t fully wake yet.  

Peter continues whispering his name in different voices and accents just to entertain himself. After a while, Johnny’s snoring stops and Peter doesn’t notice he’s waking up until he suddenly growls out, “Babe, please, shut up.”

“Oh, you’re up.”

“Against my will,” he exhales, scratching his incoming beard. “What time is it?”

Peter reaches behind him for his phone on the nightstand. “One seventeen,” he reads and turns back to Johnny. “What time do you have work?” 

“Gotta be at the garage at four. I get off at eleven.” 

“Will you come back tonight?”

“If you want me to.”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

Peter smiles to himself.

The sunlight shining through the window behind Johnny illuminates and surrounds his frame in a way that makes it look like he’s glowing.

“You look like an angel,” Peter notices aloud.

 Johnny grins. “Been called a lot of things before and angel isn’t one of them.”

“First time for everything, ya know?”

Peter’s hands roam aimlessly along Johnny’s torso, admiring the muscle definition and toned expanse of his arms, chest, and middle. His figure slims towards his hips. His chest is broad yet soft. His jaw is strong but he has minor effeminate features like long eyelashes, plump lips, and high cheekbones.

Underneath it all, he’s just a normal boy that Peter would love to protect, but he has no clue how.

His stare lingers on Johnny’s lips.

“Are you falling back asleep?” Peter asks, hand finally resting on Johnny’s hip.

“No, I’m up.”

“Your eyes are still closed.”

One big brown eye stares back at him.

Peter grins, thumbs circling the bone protruding from his hips. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“Are you always this sappy when you wake up?” 

Peter pecks his cheek tenderly and tucks his face into the crook between Johnny’s jaw and shoulder. He has no idea what he’s doing, but it feels proper to lick and suck on the tender skin there.

Johnny titters and holds Peter close to him. “That shit tickles,” he says, which encourages Peter to go lower and kiss his shoulder. “I’m too old for hickies.”

“I don’t have the lips to give you a hickey,” Peter mumbles, hauling himself over Johnny’s body to straddle him.

Instinctively, Johnny’s hands settle on Peter’s hip as the teenager lowers himself onto Johnny’s crotch. He’s still pretty hard, and it motivates Peter to begin grinding down on him.

Johnny moans with another giggle. The sound is low and sends vibrations along his torso and onto Peter’s.

From Johnny’s neck, Peter plants kisses over Johnny’s shoulders, down his arms, and sits upward when reaching his fingers. The cocky smirk on Johnny’s face drops as he watches with a heavy lidded stare Peter put a thumb in his mouth and suck on it.

Peter had seen this technique in various movies and although he’s never had his own fingers sucked, he likes the reaction he elicits from Johnny. Whilst doing so, he rocks his hips back and forth. Johnny doesn’t know which to focus on more.

Not before long, Peter’s own penis grows hard from the friction. Johnny extracts his thumb from Peter’s mouth to replace it with his index and middle.

“You’re not what you seem,” Johnny gasps, dropping his head back onto the pillow. “You got everyone fooled into thinking you’re some goody-two-shoes.”

That encourages Peter to suck harder.

All of this is so _raunchy_.  Peter loves doing these things and the confidence he gets when he does. He loves feeling dirty and doing things to Johnny that surprise and arouse them both.

“Yeah?” he whispers, nuzzling Johnny’s palm. “You like it?”

“Hell yeah,” Johnny moans, and it’s the greatest sound ever.

Peter leans down to kiss the expanse of Johnny’s collarbone, his pecs, and eases his small frame along the man’s body. Each kiss is delicate and reverent, practically worshiping Johnny on the way down to the band of his briefs.

Johnny props himself up on his elbows to watch Peter leave an array of kisses along his waist and hips. The boy looks like he knows what he’s doing, but he’s solely running on adrenaline and instinct. His instinct tells him to pull make Johnny come and proves he’s worth hanging out with.

Peter glances at Johnny to detect any signs of hesitation. Johnny nods shortly, so Peter hooks his fingers into the band of his underwear and pulls downward. Little by little, unseen bits of Johnny’s perfect skin come into view. 

Just as quickly as it shot up, Peter’s nerve nosedives at the sight of Johnny’s hard penis so close to his face. Even though he set out to see and actually put his mouth on it, he’s paralyzed with fear at not only how well endowed Johnny is but the fact that he’d gotten this far.

He lays there frozen, save for his blinking eyes in between Johnny’s thighs, looking down as if it’s supposed to greet him. He bit off more than he could chew and now he looks like an idiot just staring at Johnny’s penis. 

Even when he becomes aware of how goofy he looks, he’s too stunned to even move or say anything.

Thankfully, Johnny does.

“Peter?”

“I’ll do it, Johnny. Just lemme—“

“No, wait, just look at me.”

As painful as it is to do so, Peter meets his eyes for a second and looks off to the side. “Um, I’m gonna, ya know,” he stammers. “Just need a moment. I’ll do it.”

Johnny shakes his head with concern, cupping Peter’s chin and turning his head to face him. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But, I—“ Peter gulps and he can't look away even though he really wants to. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“What are you talking about?”

What _is_ he talking about? “Well, ya know, we’re, um, ya know,” he says, sitting up on his knees. “Just thought it’d do this for you.”

Johnny pulls his underwear back on. He doesn’t understand. “But why?” 

“Why not?”

“Because clearly you’re not comfortable doing that kinda stuff.”

“Well, we can’t just keep dry-humping each other.”

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing is wrong with it. I just didn’t want you to get, like, bored.”

Johnny shakes his head again, trying to figure this out. “What are you even saying?” 

Peter pouts and looks away again. Is he really about to cry about this? If he doesn’t, he’ll surely jump out of the window and pray the fall kills him.

Johnny regards his boy’s embarrassed demeanor and sighs. “Do you think I’ll get bored with you if we don’t do other stuff?”

Peter doesn’t say anything at first, but then he nods down at the mattress.

“Where’d you get that?”

Peter shrugs. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, you’re older and you’re experienced. I just wanted to show you that I can keep up, I guess. Didn’t want you to, like, not wanna be with me if I can’t.”

“Is that how I come off? As someone who would just ghost because I’m not getting my dick sucked regularly?” He sounds halfway offended, making Peter’s heart sink.

Peter shakes his head rapidly. “God, no! I didn’t mean it like that. It’s all my fault just letting stupid thoughts get in the way,” he explains frantically. “Johnny, gosh, I really like you. Like, a lot.”

“What’s this really about? C’mon, babe, you know you can tell me.”

That nickname gets Peter weak every time. “It’s a little stupid, but whatever. I just, um, ya know don’t want you to, like, be with anybody else. It’s a lot to ask since you probably have girls and boys eating out of the palm of your hand, but I don’t wanna share you. I thought if I did this kind stuff, it’d make me more relevant.”

Johnny nods. He looks like he’s thinking about something deep, and Peter can’t tell if he’s upset or not.

“Why do you think of me that way? What about me makes you think I’ve got all that going for me? I promise you I’m not what you think I am.”

“You’re, like, the coolest person I’ve ever met. How couldn’t someone be all over you?”

Johnny rolls his eyes and presses his lips together. “I assure you that I’m not seeing anyone else, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I don’t like you as much as you like me,” he promises. He cocks his head to the side. “To keep it real with you, I was worried you weren’t into me the way I’m into you and you’d lose interest.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “ _What_?”

“You’re smart as hell and it intimidates me a little,” he confesses, crossing his arms over his chest. “You told me you built a computer at what was it? Eight years old? You could have anyone you wanted, and it doesn’t make sense as to why you choose to spend your time with me. Shit, last night before you called, I tried watching _The_ _Force_ _Awakens_ so you’d think I was cooler, but I fell asleep halfway through it.”

In Peter’s heart, he knows he really couldn’t have just anyone he wanted, but it’s sweet that Johnny thinks so.

“You watched a _Star_ _Wars_ movie so I’d think you were cooler?” That’s a statement he never thought would come out of anyone’s mouth.

“I tried.”

Peter climbs back into Johnny’s lap and kisses his forehead. Both of their erections have flagged, but neither of them care.

“Johnny, just because you don’t care about _Star_ _Wars_ or any of the nerdy stuff I like doesn’t mean you’re any less interesting to me. You literally built your car from scratch.”

Johnny grins up at him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

“I’ve only ever had sex with one person. I’m not as experienced as you think I am, but I would’ve went along with it because it made me a little more appealing.”

That fact is unfathomable, but it assures Peter. Maybe it means Johnny is just a emotional as him. When the time is right, everything will fall into place.

“I’ve never done anything with anyone but you,” Peter shares. “But you could’ve guessed that.”

“It wouldn’t matter to me if you’ve been with a thousand people. I like us as we are, a’ight? We don’t have to prove anything to each other.”

There’s a certain safety in hearing that that touches deep within Peter. He nods and sighs contently. “I like us as we are, too.”

 

 - - 

 As much as they don’t want to, they have to part ways a short time later when Johnny goes to work. During his time alone, Peter cleans the kitchen and living room from the mess they were too tired to take care of last night.

 For a split second, the act of doing so makes him feel like someone’s cute househusband awaiting their loving partner to come home. He feels useful, wanted, and needed; butterflies flurry in his stomach at the idea of it.

If this resembles even half the feeling that Bucky and Steve feel everyday, then Peter cannot wait until they all move in and make the feeling permanent.

His Dad, more than anyone, deserves a feeling like this all the time.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not loving and appreciating HalcyonSeasons? IN THIS ECONOMY??????

Johnny arrives back to the house at midnight with a large meat lovers pizza and Peter is exceptionally grateful. His attempt at baking chicken and boiling white rice ended up a burnt and sad mess. Johnny gives him a hard time about it as they eat and cuddle on the couch.

Like the night before, they play video and board games, listen to music, and watch movies. It’s so simple yet Peter is having the time of his life with a half-sleep Johnny’s head laying in his lap.

Peter yawns towards the climax of the direct-to-video romcom they’re watching and taps Johnny’s bicep.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “Let’s get to bed.”

Johnny grunts, languidly pulling himself from Peter’s lap and stretching when he stands. “I need to shower.”

Although it’s Peter’s house, Johnny leads them upstairs to Peter’s room and immediately begins to strip down once the door is closed. Peter tries to glance away as the other boy gets naked, but he can’t help his stare lingering just a little longer when he thinks Johnny isn’t looking.

“See something you like?” Johnny teases as he rummages through his duffel bag for a change of night clothes.

“Don’t read into it.” Peter rolls his eyes and smirks. “The soap and towels are under the sink.”

While Johnny showers, Peter lays in bed, playing on his phone and checking his texts. Ned sends him pictures from space camp and if Peter wasn’t here, he would love to be there.

His Instagram feed is more full of his favorite celebrities and meme pages than his actual friends’. To be fair, up until a month ago, Ned was his only friend. Shuri’s glamorous look books are a vast improvement than what Peter is used to seeing.

The shower shuts off and a minute later, Johnny, with a towel wrapped around his waist, emerges into the bedroom followed by a puff of steam. As if Johnny dry and fully clothed doesn’t already give Peter heart palpitations, seeing him half naked and glistening with water droplets would surely put the teenager in the hospital.

He looks away again as Johnny unashamedly dries himself off and applies lotion. Peter’s blush is apparent and he’s been staring too long.

“What’s your Instagram?” Peter breaks the silence.

 Johnny drops the towel from around his waist, unashamedly revealing his very cute behind that Peter openly gawks at.

“TheQuietStorm,” he says, pulling on a pair of basketball shorts. “All one word.”

Peter searches the name and Johnny’s private account pops up. “TheQuietStorm,” he repeats, sending a follow request. “You’re not quiet at all.”

“My last name is Storm, though.” He makes his way towards the bathroom to retrieve the clothes he wore earlier that day, tosses them at his duffel bag, and falls backwards onto the mattress.

“Johnny Storm.” Peter lifts an eyebrow. “Sounds pornstar-y.”

Johnny, reaches for his phone on the nightstand. “It’s better than Peter Rogers,” he jokes.

Just when Peter is about to correct him, Johnny opens the Instagram app and reads the follow request notification.

“PB_Stark?” he says, scrolling and double-tapping through Peter’s account full of amateur New York scenery photography, videos of Peter doing flips and other gymnastics, and the occasional selfie. “You some kinda Tony Stark fanboy on the low?”

Peter looks up from his phone screen. “Well, I mean, something like that.”

“What’s that mean?” Johnny laughs, watching a dated video of Peter doing a roundoff.

“Stark is actually my last name. Not Rogers,” he explains. “Stark as in, ya know, Tony Stark.”

Johnny glances at him through his peripherals. “You mean—?”

“Tony Stark is my father.”

Johnny sits up. “ _You’re_ Tony Stark’s son? Wait, Steve was married to Tony Stark?”

Peter nods. “He sure was.” The use of the past tense surprisingly doesn’t bother him. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Peter scrolls through his camera roll and pulls up a photo taken by Natasha from December of Steve, Tony, and himself standing with their arms locked around each other in front of the Christmas tree. They looked like the happiest a family could be; nobody would’ve ever imagined that in six months time, the two of them would be separated with Peter dangling between.

“How didn’t I make that connection? You guys look—“

“Just alike,” he finishes. “Yeah, I’ve only been hearing that for the last seventeen years. You should see May. I look more like her than him.”

“Who is May?”

Peter scrolls his Instagram to find the Mother’s Day post he posted for her. It’s a collage of pictures dating from when Peter was born to their most recent selfie with a heartwarming caption about her being the best of everything she can be to him.

“My biological mother,” he says, showing Johnny the post. “She and my Pop used to work together, they became friends, and she was my parents’ surrogate.”

Johnny reads the caption and hands the device back to Peter. “You have her eyes. And nose. And cheekbones. I didn’t really know surrogates and stuff stayed in the baby’s life like that.”

“Well, we’re a special case. My parents are so close to her that it wouldn’t make sense for her to not be involved.”

“Do you refer to her as your mom?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “I mean, I know she gave birth to me and I recognize that she technically is my mother, but she’s always been May to me. I think of her as more of an aunt.”

“Hmph,” Johnny huffs. “It’s nice to have three parents, so to speak. If you lose one, you still have two.”

The deprecating tone in Johnny’s voice gets Peter looking up from his phone to analyze the man’s expression. He’s aware, but there’s something distant the way Johnny stares up at the ceiling.

“You remember anything about your biological parents?”

Johnny’s shoulder hitch upward. “Except for the fact that my mom is in jail and my father is dead? Nope.” 

“You don’t visit her or anything?”

“She wouldn’t know who I was if she saw me on the street,” he tells Peter. “I’m grateful for Dr. Storm, though. Wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for him.” Johnny scoffs. “He went through every circle of hell trying to raise my little bad ass. I can’t even count how many detentions I got over the course of four years in high school. Fuck, and when I graduated? I went wild like a dog off its leash.”

“Oh, so you were a bit of a bad boy?”

“You like that, huh?”

“Opposites attract.”

Johnny taps his pectoral. “I got this when I was sixteen,” he says, referring to the tattoo. “My father specifically said no when I asked him if I could go get it done, so my hardheaded ass went to the nearest tattoo and picked out the first thing I saw on the wall.”

“Where the hell did you go where they let you get a tattoo at sixteen without your father signing for it?”

“It was literally the first tattoo shop I found, and I did it out of spite!” Johnny laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “The place was disgusting. I don’t even recall the artist changing the needle actually. I'm just happy I didn’t catch anything and I lived to tell the tale.”

“Did it hurt?”

“It was reasonable. Nothing too severe. It could’ve burnt right through my skin, but that wouldn’t have stopped me from getting it.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Hell yeah, I got in trouble.” Johnny rolls his eyes playfully. “My father couldn’t do anything about it really, so he just grounded me for a few months. No car, no going out, none of that. I mean, it didn’t stop me from sneaking out, though.”

“I couldn’t even imagine what my Dad would do if I did something like that.”

Johnny turns his head to look at Peter. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never even been grounded before?”

Peter’s smile is small and bashful. “Because I haven’t,” he tells him. “I’m an only child so no siblings to get in trouble with. Back home I don’t have a lot of friends so I’m not invited a lot of places, so even if I wanted to stay out past curfew to drink and be crazy, I couldn’t.”

Johnny props himself up on one elbow, facing Peter. “You’re telling me that the son of Tony Stark doesn’t have a lot of friends and isn’t invited out anywhere?”

“Well, that’s just the thing. I never know if people wanna be my friend ‘cus of who my father is or if they actually like me for me. It sounds dumb, but I just, uh, I don’t know? I’ve just learned to distance myself.”

“You ever think that’s why you don’t have a lot of friends?”

“All the time.” Peter looks down at his lap. “It’s come to a point where I really don’t care to go to parties or stuff like that, but if I’m invited, I’ll go.”

“We wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t went to Shuri’s party.”

Peter nods, red-hot in the face every time he thinks back to that night. “Yeah, that’s true. Still don’t know how or why you chose to talk to me.”

“Well, for starters, I find you adorable,” Johnny says, shrugging and repositioning himself to sit cross-legged in front of Peter. “Your cheeks are so big,” he continues, pinching Peter’s face with a tug. “Looks like you’re hiding a frog in there.”

“Shut the hell up, man,” Peter laughs along with him, swatting Johnny’s hand away. “It’s just baby fat, and I’m _not_ adorable. I’m practically a grown man.”

“A grown man who can’t cook.”

“I can order takeout and that’s what matters.”

Johnny rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance. “I’ll teach you how to cook so you don’t starve when you go back to Queens.”

Since the beginning of their relationship, there’s always been an unspoken uncertainty on what they are to each other, but one thing they do know for sure is that there will come a time where they won’t be with each other. That time comes closer and closer with every day they spend together, but Peter doesn’t like thinking about what will happen once they have to say goodbye. Peter will go back home and Johnny can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants.

He wonders if Johnny ever thinks about it too.

“You plan on going to college next year?” Johnny asks.

“It feels like I should since one of my fathers graduated from MIT at nineteen years old and the other already had his own art supplies line by twenty-one.”

“But do you want to?” 

Peter shrugs. “It feels like the right thing to do. It’s kinda hard to do what I wanna do with biochemistry without going to school.”

Johnny begins absently rubbing Peter’s calf.  “Yeah, it sounds like a lot of pressure,” he says, nodding with a light chuckle. “It’s funny ‘cus my father was always adamant about Sue and I going to college. She always looked up to the likes of Tony Stark. We went to maybe a million StarkExpos and conferences. She studied her ass off for four years, applied for countless scholarships, and ran herself crazy doing what she could to be just like him. Now she’s traveling the world doing research about shit I didn’t even know needed to be looked into.”

“And now you’re dating Tony Stark’s son,” Peter adds.

“And now I’m dating Tony Stark’s son,” Johnny repeats, chuckling again. “Small world. Everything goes full circle.”

The two of them talk for another hour about any and everything before Peter’s stomach rumbles loudly, immediately halting their in-depth conversation. Johnny sits up from his spot between Peter’s thighs to shoot him a confused look.

“How are you hungry again?” Johnny asks in astonishment.

“I’m a growing boy.”

“You said you were a practically a grown man earlier.”

“Clearly, I shouldn’t be taken seriously.” Peter yawns. “I can’t sleep on an empty stomach. You wanna order something?”

“It’s like three in morning,” Johnny reminds him. “Nowhere’s open.”

“I know a place,” Peter tells him, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and getting up out of the bed to get dressed. “If you don’t mind driving, that is.”

  
  


Hunger outweighs Peter’s care to put on actual clothes to go to Peggy’s diner. Johnny’s black hoodie hangs loosely on his small frame, and the smell clinging to the garment brings comfort to Peter’s core.

The diner is empty of customers which is normal for this time in the morning, so the overnight staff are idly hanging around the counter on their phones or cleaning. Peter greets his coworkers tiredly upon entering and gets drowsy nods and waves in response. They’re sat at the booth farthest from the entrance and the staff for privacy.

“So, your English aunts runs an American-style diner,” Johnny notices aloud as he skims the menu. “Interesting.”

“It was owned by her American grandmother, so it’s not too weird,” Peter explains, not even sparing the menu a glance since he’s here nearly everyday and eats the same food.

“What’s good here?” he asks Peter.

“Everything is good,” he answers automatically then pauses to think about it. “Between you and me, the breakfast food is a lot better than the lunch and dinner.”

Because Peter can’t help himself, he orders himself a heap of food. Johnny decides on a spinach omelette that Peter turns his nose up at. 

“No one besides Popeye actually eats spinach,” he reminds Johnny in between sips of his soda.

“Well, I didn’t get this body from eating ass.”

Peter puts a hand over his mouth to stop from projectile spitting the drink out and tries not to choke as he laughs his ass off.

 

 

 

Johnny only finishes half of the omelette before picking off of Peter’s many plates of food. It’s almost four which means the morning rush will be coming through soon.

After the server clears their table, Johnny points a thumb over at the jukebox. “Dance with me?” he suggests.

“I just ate, like, ten pancakes and an entire chicken-fried steak. The last thing I wanna do is dance,” Peter grumbles exhaustedly, caressing the minuscule bump that is now his stomach. “I just wanna sleep.”

“Not fucking dance like you in some kinda Janet Jackson music video.” Johnny stands and takes Peter’s hand, pulling him from his slump in the booth and towards the jukebox. “Slow dance. Something sweet. Romantic.”

“You’re so corny,” Peter utters under his breath, but he follows Johnny to the machine regardless.

Johnny digs in his pockets for quarters and inserts a few into the coin slot. It doesn’t take him long to find and select a song he likes. When “Unchained Melody” begins to play over the restaurant speakers, Peter groans and rolls his eyes as if he can’t bothered while Johnny wraps his arms around the younger boy’s waist.

“Of all songs?” Peter complains harmlessly, not even bothering to reach his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and holds him by the middle as they sway about.  

“You’re gonna tell me you didn’t feel a type of way when Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze were holding each other and molding clay to this?”

“Oh, jeez, I didn’t say that. Everyone with a soul felt that.” Peter lays his head against Johnny’s chest. “So, I’m Demi and you’re Patrick?”

“Why do I have to be the one who dies?”

“You died doing the right thing at least. ‘Sides, I explicitly remember you saying you didn’t believe in ghosts anyways, so it works out.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “That logic doesn’t add up, but I’ll let it slide ‘cus I like you,” he admits with a shrug. “But if this was _Dirty Dancing_ , you’d be Baby and I’d be Johnny. Then it’d _really_ work out.”

“Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” Peter lazily mumbles into Johnny’s chest his best Patrick Swayze impression. “What’s your favorite eighties movie anyway?”

“Easily _Die Hard,”_ Johnny answers quickly. “Bruce Willis is untouchable in that. _Yippee ki yay, motherfucker_.”

 “You’re such a dude,” Peter groans, glancing up at Johnny and he’s always looking back. “I love _The Little Mermaid_.”

“Something told me you’d say that.”

“It’s no _Die Hard, Road House_ , or whatever other kick-ass explosion film that gets straight guys all hot and bothered, but it’s still a solid movie,” he insists with a small grin. “It’s one of my Dad’s favorites, but he’ll deny it if you ever mention how he used to sing ‘Part of Your World’ to get me to sleep when I was a baby.”

“ _The Little Mermaid_ , though? Isn’t that whole movie basically about how she wants to become human to be with some prince? Not very progressive, if you ask me.”

Peter shakes his head. “You didn’t watch the movie close enough,” he protests. “Ariel had a fascination with humans and wanted legs way before she even saw Prince Eric. He was just icing on the cake.”

“And I’m sure the ‘getting married at sixteen’ thing justifies everything?”

“There was a time jump! I’m sure they waited until she was eighteen to get married.”

Johnny waves the argument off. “Anyway, as far as Disney goes, _The Lion King_ is way better. 

“Who doesn’t like _The Lion King_ ? If you wanna get really controversial, _Tarzan_ is better than both movies,” Peter tells him confidently. “ _Aladdin_ is overrated, _Beauty and The Beast_ is just okay, _The Lion King is_ —”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Johnny interrupts, looking down at his date skeptically. “ _Tarzan_ over _Aladdin_? Fuck that.”

“ _Tarzan_ gave us ‘You’ll Be in My Heart!’”

“ _Aladdin_ had ‘A Whole New World.’”

“That’s all it has going for it,” Peter points out, matter-of-fact. “ _Tarzan_ was so much deeper.”

“Yeah, but _Aladdin_ had Robin Williams.”

Peter closes his eyes and rests his head back on Johnny’s head. “I didn’t say _Tarzan_ was better. Just think it’s overrated. 

“You know what’s really underrated?” Johnny sighs. “ _Hercules_.”

“Fuck, I love _Hercules_ !” Peter exclaims in an odd whisper-yell hybrid. “ _Hercules_ has The Muses. No one is outdoing The Muses.”

Before Johnny can respond, his pocket begins to vibrate against Peter’s leg. As much as Peter doesn’t want to, he pulls away so Johnny can reach his phone and check the caller ID.

“Who the hell would be calling you this early?” Peter mutters more to himself than Johnny and tucks himself back into his warm embrace. The song has long since turned off, but he wants to keep swaying in Johnny’s arms until he falls asleep.

“What time?” Johnny ask the person on the other line and pauses. “Yeah, I'll be in. Don’t worry about it.” He ends the call and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“What is it?” Peter asks.

Johnny scoffs. “Guy called out for this shift and Tim needs someone to cover.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Store opens at five,” Johnny reminds him and lifts his wrist to check his watch. “Gotta go in in about three hours.”

Peter whines, squeezing Johnny’s torso. “But, I, uh wanted you to myself. All day. I, um, like being with you.”

“Just come to the store with me.”

 “And do what?”

“It’s only five hours, babe,” Johnny says, running his fingers through Peter’s wavy hair. “Just sit in boss’s office and nap. Then we’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want?”

“Even watch _Star Wars_?”

Johnny hesitates. “Let’s not push it.”

 

\- -

 

Just as expected, Peter falls asleep on the ride back to the house. He doesn’t remember the trip from the car to inside to upstairs, but he wakes up two hours later in his bedroom. Johnny is in the bathroom, washing his face with the music on his phone loud enough to reach Peter’s ears and wake him.

“Was just boutta wake you,” Johnny calls when he notices the giant lump of comforter that is Peter’s boy moving around. “Get dressed. You can sleep when we get there.”

Peter washes his face, brushes his teeth, and does what he can to make his hair look decent. He throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt but makes sure to grab Johnny’s hoodie before they leave.

“How long did you say this shift is?” Peter asks a while later as they approach the store to park.

“Five hours,” Johnny answers, killing the engine and pulling his key from the ignition. “Won’t be too long.”

“Do you wanna go swimming later? It’s hotter than usual today,” Peter suggests, shielding his eyes from brightness outside the car when they get out.

“Just as long as you don’t let a piranha or some shit swim into my dick.”

“You are so dramatic,” Peter mumbles with a fond eye roll and follows behind Johnny into the hardware store.

Dugan is on duty and waves from behind the cashwrap when he spots Johnny and Peter. Johnny takes Peter by the hand to lead him through the back, but the other boy momentarily hesitates.

“You sure I can be back here?” he wonders, looking around worriedly at the large break room. None of the employees even spare him a glance, but he subconsciously tries to make himself smaller and hide behind Johnny.

“You’re the boss’s stepkid,” Johnny reminds him, twisting his combination on the lock of his locker and getting his apron out. “I think you’ll be okay.”

It’s not technically correct, but it is true. Peter doesn’t say anything about it and just follows Johnny to Bucky’s office at the end of the hallway.

Bucky’s office isn’t big, but Steve’s artwork on the walls and the faint linger of Bucky’s cologne bring the coziness of home to the space. Other than the scattered stacks of loose paper on the desk, the rest of the office is neat and organized unlike how Peter imagined.

“Just chill out in here,” Johnny tells him, tying his apron around his waist. “If you get bored, put on an apron and terrorize customers or something.”

Peter shakes his head with a sideways grin. “I’ll be okay,” he says and takes Johnny’s hand in his to pull him forward. “Can I have a—”

Johnny is pressing his lips to Peter’s before he can finish the sentence. The kiss is short but deep, and Peter giggles childishly when they pull away.

  
  


Boredom gets the best of Peter within the first hour of Johnny’s shift.

Browsing through social media on a phone loses its appeal very quickly, so Peter hacks into Bucky’s computer to update his blog and watch YouTube.

(He didn’t hack into the computer so much as he just rummaged through the desk and found a password book in the deepest depth of scattered paper piles—his password is Mama Barnes’ birthday.)

  
  


By the second hour, Peter has taken another nap and gone through half the fruit cups in Bucky’s mini fridge. Ned sends him more pictures from camp and they FaceTime until Ned has to leave.

  


 

The third hour is full of Vine compilations, talk show interviews, and comedy sketches until he takes another nap and eats another fruit cup.

Out of curiosity, Peter leaves the office and goes to the sales floor. Johnny isn’t anywhere to be seen, but Peter keeps himself busy with browsing the general side of the store. Employees are restocking the shelves, customers are taking their sweet time shopping, and for a moment, Peter forgets that Bucky put this place together all by himself.

He’ll have to ask the man just how he did and what the fate of the company is when they move. A location in the city could either be great or terrible for business given there’s a store just like it on every corner.

Dugan rings Peter’s candy and soda up at a discount, and Peter retreats back to the office.

  
  


As Johnny's shift gets closer to ending, Peter finds more to look at on Bucky’s desktop.

 Midtown already posted their events for next school year on their public calendar, so Peter skims through that. The first day of school is the Wednesday after Labor Day, and It’s bittersweet to think about being a senior and leaving his new life behind. He’ll miss his new friends, the warmth of the town and its people, and the tranquility in air that seems to make the summer move like molasses.

 If he were desperate enough, he’d beg to stay and go to school in Ithaca, but he knows he can’t avoid Tony forever. Obviously, he’d miss May and Ned too much to ever stay away for more than a couple of months.

If Peter wanted it enough, he could make his life there just as good as his life here.

 

 

With only half an hour left of Johnny’s shift, Peter kills time by looking up furniture for his new bedroom. Steve planted the decorating idea in his head, and now he has an inspiration folder full of color schemes and artwork on his phone. His room at Steve’s has to be different from his room at Tony’s.

Now he just has to figure out how he’s going to split his time between them. He could be at Tony’s Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday then stay with Steve and Bucky on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday and leave Sunday neutral for a day at May’s. Or to maybe spend the weekdays with one and leave the weekend for the other? He should spend a few weeks with Steve just to get used to the new house. Depending on his mood and travel, he’ll have to—

An abrupt knock on the office door interrupts Peter’s inner monologue. He considers not answering, but the knocks only get more and more urgent as seconds go by. The person on the other side is obviously here to see Bucky, so Peter will just explain to him that Bucky is of town and take a message.

Just as Peter swings the door open and fixes his mouth to tell them Bucky isn’t here, his stomach drops into his ass at the person on the other side.

He’d only seen the creep once, but Peter knows Brock Rumlow’s face when he sees it and instead of slamming the door in the man’s face, he freezes and blinks widely like an owl up at him.

How the fuck did he forget this guy still works here?

Recognition flashes across Brock’s face and instead of cowering like Peter unrealistically hoped, the man smirks down at him in a way that says he’ll eat the boy alive.

“You,” he growls, pointing at Peter. “I know you.”

Peter grimaces. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re Roger’s boy,” he says, taking a step forward into the office that forces Peter to stumble backwards. “After your little superhero moment a few weeks ago, I did a little research and I’m curious to know why Tony Stark’s son ended up in upstate New York working minimum wage at some diner.”

“A quick Google search on my parents isn’t really research,” Peter says, gulping when he swings the door shut behind him.

“Your little smartass could’ve got me fired,” he accuses menacingly.

 _Is he serious?_ “You were sexually harassing a sixteen-year-old girl.” 

“You millenials have all these stupid terms and get offended so easy.” Brock rolls his eyes as if this conversation is beneath him.

“Um, I’m actually a Gen Z, and uh, any decent person would be offended by a grown man sexually harassing an underage girl.”

“Maybe you should have minded your business, you little shit, then I wouldn’t have had to rough you up.” Brock advances on Peter, infiltrating his personal bubble yet again. 

Peter backs away, careful not to trip over his own feet again. “If I remember correctly, my Dad is the one who roughed you up,” he reminds him.

“Yeah, well, Daddy isn’t here to save you this time,” he tells him, shoving Peter by the shoulders just enough to make him lose his balance. 

“Don’t touch me,” Peter warns him, distancing himself. “Touch me again and—”

“You gonna tell your Dad?” Brock taunts, taking another step towards the teenager. “Nobody is scared of him and Bucky didn’t care about you enough the first time to actually fire me.”

That stings, but Peter pretends not to care as he backs away the last time before the back of his thighs collide with the desk.

“You’re not just gonna, like, beat me up, are you?” Peter says, voice shaking. “I’ll have to fight back.”

“You got more heart in you then your faggot stepdad, I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Peter exclaims, unable to contain his anger now. “He’s ten times a man than you.”

“And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?” Brock mocks, giving him another shove.

All Peter sees is red and without thinking anything of it, he shoves back with all his might. “I said, don’t touch me!” 

Even though the force of the push doesn’t move Brock, he retaliates by asserting this strength over Peter and pushes him right back. Peter yelps in pain from nearly falling over the desk and all it takes is two seconds to decide whether he’s going to fight or flee.

“Don’t touch me!” he yells out as he dodges Brock’s uncoordinated attempts at punching him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hold still, you little shit,” Brock’s grunts, evil eyes focused in on Peter like a predator to its prey. “Someone should teach you a lesson about involving yourself in adult’s affairs.”

Although he has no chance over someone of Brock’s height and girth, Peter does what he can to protect himself by dodging hits and squirming from Brock’s grasp.

“Get off me,” he demands with a crack in his voice, unable to find the balance to swing or kick with Brock’s weight overpowering him. “Get the fuck off me!”

He’s never had to defend himself in such a way before, so to say he’s terrified is an understatement. No one should feel this helpless, and all Peter needs is a moment of weakness in this creep to get a decent hit in. Without wanting to, he whimpers loudly and tries so hard to just get the creep off of him. If Steve were here, he would’ve effectively murdered Brock by now, but Peter is too focused on getting away to even think about anything beyond this moment.

“Get off!” he shouts for the umpteenth time, worming about and giving Brock a hard time. “Just, stop, please!”

“Fucking pussy,” Brock spat out, scaring the boy even further. “You’re only talking shit when Daddy’s around to fight your battles for you.” 

In the midst of Brock trying to hold him down, his fingers get close to Peter’s face. Taking the opportunity offered, Peter chomps down on an index finger as hard as he can and Brock jerks away with a pained shout.

“I should kill you, you fucking—” he yells, clutching his finger to his chest. His threat is stopped short when his body is pulled away from Peter’s and to the floor by the force of Johnny’s fist in his collar.

Peter inhales a much needed breath and falls from off of the desk right beside the tussle of Johnny throwing fists at Brock who struggles to get up. He didn’t notice or hear Johnny even enter the office, but he’s grateful he did.

Johnny’s jaws are clenched and his eyes are deadly focused on Brock’s face, making it so that each punch lands and connect with a loud thumping sound. The sheer rage written all over his face is downright frightening—Peter’s never seen this before, and he can’t decide why he’s slightly turned on.

Both men tangle around each other, furiously rolling around and dragging about like two dogs in a ring. They move almost too fast for Peter to register that he’s witnessing an actual fight. Johnny has the upper hand of catching Brock off guard, and most of his hits connect almost too hard. Not before long, Brock stops fighting back and the worst case scenario flashes in Peter’s mind at the sight of Brock’s halfway unresponsive body.

“Johnny!” Peter shouts, getting to his feet. “Johnny, stop!”

Johnny continues blindly beating on Brock, most likely unaffected by Brock’s petty attempts to throw him off. Even though Johnny is winning the fight, it won’t benefit him in the long run, so Peter tries to get his attention again.

“Johnny, stop!” he yells desperately and forces his shaky legs to stand right. “Stop!”

Any type of self-preservation Peter has flies out the window when he grabs Johnny by the middle and tries to shove him off of Brock. He calls Johnny’s name over and over, louder and louder each time to break through his violent haze.

Lost in his own head, Johnny swings back to get Peter off of him, underestimating just how forceful his hand is. His fist connects perfectly with Peter’s nose and mouth, knocking the boy backwards and on his bottom in seconds. Peter doesn’t register what had happened until Johnny’s rage abruptly ends and those furious eyes turn soft at the sight of Peter looking at him like a kicked puppy. 

“Oh, my god,” Johnny exhales, Brock long forgotten as he eases closer to Peter. “Babe, I-I-I’m sorry.”

Peter’s mind blanks out and without meaning to, he flinches back when Johnny reaches for him. The action, though small and easily unnoticeable, gets Johnny’s hand flitting away and to his side like Peter burned him.

Another second barely goes by before Tim and a group of other employees come rushing down the hallway and into the office, flabbergasted by the chaos before them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Tim shouts, surveying the scene of Brock nearly knocked out cold, Johnny’s guilty expression and Peter’s zoned out frightened stare in Johnny’s direction. “Johnny?”

Johnny shakes his head in disgust and cocks his head towards Brock. “Call the police,” he instructs Tim. “This motherfucker was assaulting Peter. This isn’t the first time he’s done it, either.”

“I ain’t do shit to him, Tim!” Brock coughs, spitting blood pooling in his mouth on the carpet. “I’m the ones who’s all beat up.”

“We got you on camera,” Johnny suggests, getting to his feet. “Just check the security footage. He was assaulting him. Maybe attempted murder? I don't know, he has a Make America Great Again bumper sticker, so I wouldn’t put it above him.”

Tim turns to Peter and his jaw drops. “Jesus H. Christ, Peter, your nose!”

Peter brings a hand to his face and a wave of nausea hits him when he sees his own blood dripping from his palm. He’s still high on the adrenaline of the moment, so the pain hasn’t hit yet, but it’s concerning that he can’t pinpoint exactly where the blood is coming from.

“Fuck, boy, we’ve gotta get you to the hospital,” Tim says, crossing the office in no time to lift the teenager to his feet.

“It’s just a nosebleed,” Peter insists and he wishes he didn’t speak because the taste of his blood isn’t one he likes. “I’m f-f-fine.”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s just a paper cut,” Tim protests, removing his flannel to press against Peter’s face. “Apply pressure to minimize the bleeding. Go on, take it, kid. Jacques, call the police and get Steve on the line. Johnny, come with us to the hospital—”

The remainder of orders Tim rattles off falls mute on Peter’s ears, but he does as he’s told and presses the balled up garment to his face to reduce blood flow. A headache is beginning to settle right where he’d been hit and he can’t seem to focus on anything in particular.

He doesn’t want to black out, so not to scare anyone, but he can’t fight how heavy his eyelids become. The edge of his vision blurs, and he can’t make out what’s real and fake from being escorted out the building and into Tim’s minivan. 

“Mr. Dugan?” he mumbles, voice weak and muffled into the shirt.

“Yeah, boy?”

“My Dad’s gonna kill Brock, isn’t he?”

Tim sighs hesitantly but nods with certainty. “He just might,” he says. “He really just might.”

  
\- -  
  


Steve and Bucky arrive at the hospital in record time, and all hell breaks loose the second they do.

Once Tim, Johnny, and Peter reach the hospital, Peter is seen immediately and thankfully, his nose isn’t broken. The impact was forceful enough to draw blood, but there’s no damage aside from slight bruising. However, his bottom lip is split and his wrist acquired a sprain from struggling with Brock. After a multitude of hand-eye coordination tests, the doctor diagnoses him with a minor concussion and suggests he rests for the next week.

Steve never leaves Peter's bedside and the expression on his face is almost unreadable. He maintains his cool while talking to the nurses and doctors treating Peter, but the second they leave, his face turns stern.

Peter gulps. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.

The question catches Steve off guard. “At you?” he repeats, shaking his head. “God, no, Pete. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Steve assures him, placing a hand behind Peter’s head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says and it’s only half of the truth. Physically he will be, but his head is still spinning from everything that’s taken place. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He is talking to Tim and Johnny. The police are here for a statement,” he explains and then regards Peter with a look. “Are you gonna be okay to tell them your side of the story?”

“Yeah.” _No_. “Is Brock gonna go to jail?”

Steve inhales sharply and thinks about what he wants to say. “That’s the safest place for him at the moment,” he says after a minute.

Peter nods in understanding and stares down at the pristine white tiles of the hospital room. “Did you tell Pop?”

“I did. We talked on the way over and I had to talk him out of coming down here, bringing his entire security team with him, and suing everybody in sight,” Steve chuckles lowly. “You know how dramatic Pop is.”

“I don’t need security.” 

“I know, buddy, and I told him that. He said he’s gonna call again later when you’re feeling up to conversation.”

Peter nods again. “I really am fine, Dad. Just tired now.”

“Yeah, and we’re gonna take you home where you can rest when everything is sorted out,” Steve promises soothingly. “Everything is gonna be okay, alright?”

Without meaning to, Peter’s eyes water but he wills himself not to let the tears spill over. It feels good to hear his Dad’s voice reassure him especially after everything that’s happened.

He really didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He shouldn’t have left the house—if he had stayed at the house and waited for Johnny to come back from work like a normal seventeen-year-old, no one would’ve gotten beaten up, he wouldn’t be here with the world’s worst headache, and Steve and Bucky could finish doing housework. Johnny wouldn’t have lost control on Brock if Peter would’ve gotten Tim’s help instead of intervening.

There was so much he could’ve done differently.

“I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble,” Peter whispers, unable to hold back any longer when it hits him that this might be his fault. “I’m sorry, Dad, I was just—” He sniffles and crumbles over, but Steve catches him in his arms.

“Hey, it’s okay, Petey,” he says, holding his son close and rubbing his back in circles. “No one is mad at you. Nothing is your fault.”

Even though it’s just what Peter needs to hear, he doesn’t believe it.

  
  


 

After the doctor prescribes him with pain medication and gives him a brace for his right wrist, Peter is interrogated by two nice enough police officers who talk to him like they would a scared animal. He purposely leaves anything about Johnny hitting him out of his retelling. After deciding that everything adds up on everyone’s end, they leave to presumably carry out the case. Peter isn’t sure what is supposed to happen next, but he really wants to go home.

Steve only leaves Peter’s bedside to take care of the hospital bill and when he does, Johnny quietly slips in the room to see him.

“Hey.”

Peter’s head jerks up to the entrance. “Johnny,” he says, smiling for the first time in a few hours. “Are you okay?”

Johnny waves it off and awkwardly stands near the door as though Peter’s injuries are contagious. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I mean, I’ve gotta wear this brace, but that has nothing to do with, um, ya know.”  

 _With you hitting me._  

Peter stops himself from saying something that will upset Johnny, but the crestfallen look on Johnny’s face already says he knows what he meant. 

“Good,” Johnny says and nods off to the side. “I gotta go.”

Peter’s first instinct is to demand why, but he decides against it. “Call me later.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything else before rushing out of the room with his hands deep in his pockets and gaze averted to the floor.

The ride to the house is quiet which does wonders for Peter’s headache. Steve sends him to his room the second they’re through the door, and a sudden wave of sadness washes over Peter when he sees Johnny’s duffel bag in the corner and his clothes scattered on the carpet.

Peter takes yet another nap against the doctor’s advice.  


 

 

When he awakes again, his stomach is growling with hunger, but he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed and feed himself. It’s well into nighttime and Peter had been going in an out of consciousness for the last two hours. At first, it’s hard to remember what happened but soon after staring to the darkness of his room, he recalls everything that happened with Brock, Johnny, and talking to the police.

When he checks his phone—also against the doctor’s advice—he has over ten missed calls and frantic texts from Tony that he decides to deal with later before going back to sleep.

The next time Peter wakes up, it’s ten in the morning and someone is knocking on the bedroom door. 

Peter sits up against the headboard, ignoring how groggy he feels. “Come in.”

Much to Peter’s delight and surprise, Bucky is on the other side with a huge bowl of Peter’s favorite cereal in one hand and his pain medication in the other.

The man’s aura reads differently today. For one thing, he’s sporting a nervous smile and tender eyes that aren’t as cold and hard as they usually are. Bucky wears vulnerability well.

“Hey, kid,” he says, approaching the bed and handing the bowl over. “How are you feeling?”

Peter scoops a spoonful into his mouth. “I’m alright. Head hurts.”

“Take these.” Bucky tosses the ibuprofen bottle and any other day, People would be able to catch it but his reflexes aren’t as up to par as before. “Eat a little first so you don’t get sick. Mind if I sit?”

Peter shakes his head and makes room for Bucky to have a seat on the edge of the bed. He carefully watches the boy eat half the bowl then downs two pills with the water on his nightstand before clearing his throat and clasping his hands together.

“I want to apologize,” he says out of nowhere.

Peter stop chewing and his eyes shoot up to look at the side of Bucky’s face.

“About what?” Peter swallows down the spoonful.

“Yesterday was my fault.” His jaw twitches. “I should’ve gotten rid of Rumlow a long time ago.”

At a loss for words, Peter fills his mouth with more cereal.

“I put my business before you when I didn’t fire him the first time, and I’m seeing now it was wrong and fucking selfish of me to do that,” he admits, shaking his head at himself. “I apologize for not being able to protect you, Peter.”

Peter puts the empty bowl on the nightstand once he’s done. He doesn’t know how to respond, but he doesn’t get to when Bucky continues talking.

“I don’t want there to ever be a day that goes by where you think I don’t care about you, kid,” he confesses with unimaginable sincerity, turning to face Peter now. “Heading about that situation hurt me, and I’ll never forgive myself for not being able to stop it. You don’t have to forgive me anytime soon or at all—”

“I don’t blame you,” Peter interrupts.

Bucky blinks once before squinting at him. “What?”

“I don’t blame you,” he repeats. “It wasn’t your fault, and I know you care about me. I’m your boyfriend’s son.”

“It’s deeper than that,” Bucky adds. “I don’t care about you simply because you’re Steve’s son. You’re an incredible kid, and any guy would be lucky to have your punkass as a son.” 

Peter giggles. “I prefer when you’re mean.”

“Ah, then you would’ve loved the beautiful conversation I just had with Brock’s lawyer just now,” he says with an eye roll to the ceiling. “I’ll drag him all the way to hell if it’s the last thing I do. I promise you that. You don’t ever have to worry about him anymore, okay?” 

“You say that as if you’re gonna chop up his body and put the remains in the lake.” 

The man shrugs. “Hey, nobody messes with my boy and gets away with it,” he tells him and gets up from the edge of the bed. “I’ll let you get some rest.” 

Bucky takes the bowl from the nightstand and makes his way towards the door.

“Hey, um, Bucky?” Peter calls just as he’s turning the knob.

Bucky turns. “Hmmm?”

Peter hauls himself from out of bed to walk over and wrap his skinny arms around Bucky’s torso with a grin as wide as Texas. He’s warm and inviting in a way he’s never been before, and Peter doesn’t want to let go.

“Thank you,” he sighs.

Instead of asking the boy to let him go, Bucky reciprocates the hug after a moment of thought.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

  
  
\- -

 

Just about everyone who knows about the incident contacts Peter to assure that he is okay.

He has a long conversation about self-preservation with May, a short one with Tony that consists of pleading for him to not send his security team to Ithaca, and another long one with Ned where he rightfully freaks out about everything. 

Sam tells Shuri, and Peter sends her a selfie he took at the hospital showcasing his bruised nose and lip with the caption “I lived, bitch.”

Peggy visits and there’s a lot of polite cursing of Brock’s name and a rant against straight, white men. Even Gwen, Sally, Betty, and Cindy send their well wishes when Peggy informs them on why Peter hasn’t been to work.

 He’s grateful that everyone care so much and that he’s being looked after, but even through it all, the one person he wants to reach out doesn’t.

Even two days after the incident, Johnny hasn’t called, answered any of Peter’s many texts, or sent at least a Snapchat checking up on him. Peter wouldn’t think much of it if they were just casual friends who don’t talk every chance they get. The sudden silence is haunting, and as always, Peter is sure it’s his fault.

He has no idea what any of it means. He wants to ask Bucky if Johnny’s been at work, but that would only raise suspicion that he doesn’t want to deal with. He doesn’t want to believe that Johnny is ignoring him to get rid of him, but all the signs point to him doing so.

One night after a check up at the concussion urgent care clinic, Peter takes a chance by texting Johnny again.

 

 _Hey_.

 

He doesn’t expect an answer by this point, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

A minute later, Peter checks his phone preparing himself to see that the text had been read and ignored, but it’s worse than what he could have imagined.

His heart just about stops when he notices that the bubble containing the text is now green instead of the usual blue associated with iMessage.

Just to be sure he’s not losing his mind, he checks all sources of social media connected to Johnny and has to fight back throwing his phone when he sees he’s also blocked on Twitter and Instagram. His username doesn’t appear on Peter’s friend list on Snapchat either.

What did Peter do to warrant getting blocked?

More importantly, what is Peter going to do about getting blocked?

His immediate thought is to get angry. He wants to scream, punch holes in the wall, and bust someone’s car windows out with a baseball bat, but ultimately he knows that’s not in his character.

Instead of doing any of that, Peter lays in the same spot Johnny did on his bed just few days ago, trying to figure out how everything that was going so right could now go so wrong.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I saw that this story reached 1K kudos, my dumbass did a backflip off of a toilet. I love you guys! Thank you!!!!! I would be nowhere without the T’Challa to my Bucky, HalcyonSeasons.

Peter and Michelle were FaceTiming when he told her what happened, she murmured something about coming over before abruptly ending the call, and arrived on his doorstep an hour later. 

“I have a concussion,” he tells her as she empties her reusable grocery bag onto the kitchen counter. “What is avocado dip going to do?” he asks, looking over an unmarked tub of green mush. 

“It’s an avocado  _ mask _ , stupid,” she says pointedly, snatching back the tub and putting it on the counter. “I made it myself. We’re doing skincare.”

“Why?” Peter asks, intimidated by the array of tubes and bottles of organic mixtures on the counter. 

“I was about to do my routine when you called begging and pleading for me to keep you company and take care of you, seeing as you are impaired,” she answers, folding the bag down and tossing it to the side. 

Peter rolls his eyes, not even bothering with correcting her. “Did you at least bring food? I’m starving.” 

“Children in developing countries are starving, Peter. You shouldn’t joke about that.” 

“So, that’s a no to the food?” 

Michelle taps a random tub of brown liquid. “This is chicken noodle soup. It’ll help your sinuses.” 

“I have a  _ concussion _ ,” he reiterates. “ _ Not _ a cold.” 

“Your sinuses are connected to your bruised nose,” she says, tapping the bridge of his nose and then poking his forehead. “Which leads directly to your concussed brain. And plus, my recipe has something special in it.” 

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “If it’s rat poison, I’m not interested.” 

“You’ll eat what I feed you and like it because without me, you’ll starve.” 

He doesn’t want to admit that she’s correct. 

  
  
  


According to Michelle, the avocado mask consists of oatmeal, honey, apple cider vinegar, and of course, avocado.

“So this is completely edible?” Peter asks, gesturing to the green mush spread over his face. Despite looking like a bad cosplay of Shrek, he likes that it tingles in the best way.

“It is, but don’t eat it,” she advises, leaning towards the bathroom mirror to apply her own mask to her skin with a facial brush. “If you’re so hungry, just drink the soup.” 

“Only if you tell me the secret special ingredient.” 

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a secret. You’re just gonna have to trust me.” 

“You do know that if I hadn’t asked Peggy, to this day, I still would not know what your name is?” 

She shrugs. “Peggy could’ve told you a fake name I gave her.” 

“Your mom calls you Michelle all the time,” he insists, poking tentatively at his face and nudges her side with his elbow. “When are you gonna drop the mysterious act?” 

“I’ll die before I ever let you know one actual thing about me.” 

Peter chuckles. “You told me you’re asexual. That’s one actual thing.” 

The look that flashes on her half-green face clearly shows she forgets telling him that, but it doesn’t last long before she rolls her eyes upward and grunts disinterestedly. 

“At any rate, I only know as much as I do about you ‘cus you talk too much.” 

“I do not,” he retaliates, exiting the bathroom to retrieve his phone. “You just don’t share enough.” 

“You’re the same boy who told me about the time you found one of your Dad’s dildos in the dishwasher and cried ‘cus you thought your own penis would fall off,” she reminds him without a second thought, evenly distributing the mask across her face. 

“I was only eleven when that happened. You’d be scared too!” Peter opens up Snapchat and browses through the filters. “Smile!” He angles his phone to capture an image of Michelle’s bored, green face with a crown of golden leaves. 

“You’re so cute,” he says, saving the image before adding it to his story. 

“I’m ethereal, but okay,” she mumbles, twisting the cap back onto the tub of avocado face mask. “Anyway, you’d really benefit from having a secret or two.” 

Peter nods, thinking off in space about everything that’s happened since he’d come upstate. “I have a few from my Dad, Pop, and May. Some stuff Ned doesn’t know either.” 

“What about your stepdad?” 

Peter keeps nodding and sets his phone on the bathroom counter. “Yeah, I’m keeping some stuff from him, too. Only person who probably knows just about everything about me is my Uncle Sam.“ 

_ And Johnny.  _

Michelle nods thoughtfully, washing the facial brush under hot water. “Peggy knows more about me than my own mother,” she admits quietly and quirks her mouth to the side. 

She doesn’t look up from cleaning the brush, but shrugs when she feels Peter staring. 

“And it’s not that my mom isn’t cool as hell,” she continues. “She’s understanding and all, but I’m a little worried to tell her I’m ace and that I don’t have much of an interest in college even though she’s been breaking her back for years to pay for me to go.” 

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Peter agrees, leaning against the closed door. “Sometimes I think about the kind of scrutiny my Pop would go through having a son who didn’t go to college.” 

Michelle dries the brush with a hand towel. “How do you stay out of tabloids and stuff? How aren’t paparazzi following you all the time? Excuse me for sounding a bit like a groupie, but you’re Tony’s Stark’s son.”

Peter hikes his shoulders up and drops them. “My parents wanted my life to be as normal as possible, so that’s what we did,” he tells her. “If it were any other way, we’d live in some Malibu castle with me going to private school with a bodyguard and all that. If you lead a boring life, the media tends to not care.” 

“I’m just amazed that your parents managed to keep their divorce out of the public eye.” 

“Luckily, my parents have a good group of people around us who wouldn’t sell us out for a headline,” he says gratefully. “Even if we did, they’d probably just pretend to be happy like they have been to prove it to everybody who cares.” 

“That’s a tough way to live.” 

“Which is why they’re now happily separated. Dad is here with Bucky and all his friends while Pop is running his business,” he adds. “Dad is from Brooklyn and Pop is from Long Island, but they moved to Queens to be closer to May. It was humbling for Pop to go from a mansion with a thousand rooms and a waitstaff and a huge upgrade for Dad who was born to two poor Irish immigrants and swimming in student loans.” 

Michelle tucks a loose wave of hair off of his face. “Can I tell you something?” 

“Anything.” 

She grins at him. “I kinda like when you tell me stuff about you. Not that I need any, it’s nice to have a friend.” 

Peter’s face gets hot but he keeps his cool. “You have a soft spot for me, don’t you, Michelle?” he inquires, borderline teasing but all he gets is a punch to the shoulder for his troubles. 

The avocado mask dries in the time it takes Michelle to get water boiling on the stove top. With her hair pushed back and out of her face, she places her face near the steam emitting from the pot, mumbling something about opening up her pores when Peter asks what she’s doing.

With matching peel off masks meant to extract impurities from their skin and bowls of chicken noodle soup, the two of them sit on the sofa and watch a documentary about sinkholes. It’s not the way he expected the day to go, but he can’t imagine it going any better. 

The documentary reaches its halfway point when it's time to peel the mask and Peter is deeply fascinated by the dirt and oil trapped in his mask when they do. 

“I wash my face, like, everyday,” he yells from the couch to Michelle in the kitchen. “How is there this much stuff in my face?”

“Facials are crucial!” she shouts, rinsing their bowls and reentering the living room with another tube and a bag of cotton balls. “And you’ve been eating terribly lately.” 

“I’m a growing boy!” 

“Chocolate chip waffles with frosting has no nutritional value.” She plops down beside him, landing halfway in his lap when she does. “Lay back. You need to put this toner on.” 

In the midst of Michelle applying her homemade apple cider vinegar facial toner on Peter’s face, his phone vibrates and chirps on the coffee table. He reaches for it and holds it out of Michelle’s way as he reads the text displayed on his screen. 

It’s from Shuri. 

_ pool party @ Sam’s… Friday… are you down?  _

Peter’s eyebrow quirks upward as he responds with  _ Why are you always throwing a party? _

_ Boy does your white ass wanna come or not??? _

He chuckles.  _ Count me in. I’ll be there after class!  _

Michelle takes another cotton ball to dip in the mix and pats it down the bridge of Peter’s nose. “It’s rude to not include your guest in on jokes, Peter.” 

“You haven’t been a guest since you and my Dad co-signed in lecturing me about spilling fruit punch on the carpet.” 

“Well, if you would’ve been drinking lemon water like me, we wouldn’t have had to,” she says, lifting out of his lap to discard the cotton balls. “But, seriously, what’s so funny? It may not look like it but I love to laugh.” 

Peter looks back at his phone and begins typing again. 

_ Can I bring a friend? _

Shuri responds instantly.  _ As long as you don’t bring potato salad.  _

“You wanna go to my friend’s pool party on Friday?”  Peter asks. 

Michelle’s eyebrows fly upward. “You have other friends?”

“Ha!” he exclaims sarcastically with a grimace. “Do you?” 

“I don’t swim in other people’s pools.” 

“No one is making you get in the pool. And based on what Sam has told me, black people don’t actually swim at pool parties, so I don’t think you’ll be alone.” 

Michelle snorts. “Never change, Peter.” 

“So?” He sits up, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa. “You wanna come?” 

She pretends to think about it for a moment. “I’ll go, but only ‘cus you begged and I always give my fans what they want.” 

“In your dreams,” he groans. 

“It’s okay that you’re madly in love with me, Peter. Who wouldn’t be?” She flips a lock of hair behind her shoulder.

“Keep putting words in my mouth and I’m not sure your neck can support the weight of your already big head.”

She gapes with a stuttering laugh before reaching over and flicking his ears. “I know you’re not trying to talk about my head when you can hear the sun come up with these!” 

Peter waves her hand away. “Yeah, whatever,” he utters under his breath. “How long am I supposed to keep this on my face for?” 

“Until I say so.” 

Peter doesn’t want to admit the chicken noodle soup is actually quite good, so he feigns nonchalance when Michelle offers him a second bowl. She moisturizes his face with several types of creams and lotions, plucks his eyebrows, and even goes so far as to squeeze the blackheads out of his nose. This all goes down with copious complaining on both sides and it reaches a point where they don’t even hear Bucky come home. 

“You guys sound like an old married couple,” he calls from the front door, hanging his keys on the key hook. “Trust me, I’d know.” 

Michelle smile sweetly at Bucky as he enters the living room. “Mr. Barnes, I don’t see myself marrying anyone and if I did, it would not be Peter,” she tells him, sounding the complete opposite of how she looks. 

Bucky shrugs with a nod, agreeing. 

“Like I would wanna spend the rest of my life with yo—OW!” he yelps when she squeezes just a bit too hard on his nose, triggering his tear ducts to water. “Michelle, that hurts!” 

“Beyoncé said pretty hurts. Are you going against Beyoncé, Peter?” 

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” Bucky says, shaking his head at them and making his way to the den. “Let me know when your Dad gets home.” 

Bucky is gone before Peter can reply, but Michelle is going on about him holding still so she can finish. 

“When are your Dad and Mr. Barnes going to get married?” she asks after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t know. The divorce isn’t finalized yet, so no time soon, I think.” He shrugs. “We haven’t even moved in yet, but Dad and Bucky seem to be taking these things at a fast pace.” 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone to deal with the losers in this town.” 

“You seem to have been doing okay for the last sixteen years,” he says. “I like that you’re gonna miss me.” 

Michelle squints at him, adjusting herself to kneel comfortably above him. “I’m not getting into this with you.” 

“I’ll miss you.” 

“How couldn't you? I’m the best.” 

“Okay, big head.” 

“Alright, satellite ears.” 

Peter groans. “You’re so annoying.” 

“You love me.” 

“I’ll admit I do when you say you’ll miss me.” 

Michelle shakes her head. “I would never give you the satisfaction.” 

“It’s okay. I know you will, but I promise we’ll stay in touch. I’ll call you everyday, we’ll text all the time, start a Snapchat streak—” he teases, counting each thing off his fingers. 

“The fact that you think I’ll enjoy any of that is an insult. You should know better.” 

Peter scoffs. “Oh, right! You want radio silence for nine months until I come back next summer.” 

“Exactly!” she chirps, cleaning his nose with a face wipe. “Done.” 

“My nose hurts. That did nothing to help my concussion, by the way.” 

“But it’s clean,” she tells him, holds his chin with two fingers, and angles his head to look up at her. “All jokes and teases aside, I am going to miss you, moron,” she confesses with a smirk that he’s not sure he should trust. 

He smiles up at her anyway. “That’s so sweet—”

“But not enough to cry about it when you leave or get bent out of shape if you don’t text back,” she adds on quickly, finger in his face threateningly. “Tell anyone I said that and I will stab you. I don’t know where or with what, but I will.” 

Because he can’t help himself, Peter rests his head against her abdomen and throws his arms around her tiny waist. “I love you, too, Michelle,” he sighs contently, smiling at nothing in particular. 

He doesn’t see it, but a faint blush is casting over Michelle’s cheeks. She’s smiling down at him and doesn’t fight the need to run her fingers through his hair. 

  
\--  
  


A couple of days later, the concussion specialist at the clinic gives the green light on Peter to return back to work and regular everyday activity after declaring he’s no longer concussed. He still has to wear the brace a while longer, but it doesn’t stop valuable drive time with Bucky. 

Instead of practicing in their usual parking lot, Bucky instructs Peter to drive to a bar and grille restaurant just down the road from the driving school. 

“Are we practicing in a crowded parking lot today instead?” he asks, clicking on his turn signal as he enters the parking lot. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Just hungry.” 

“We’re eating without Dad?” 

“Your Dad’s out with Peggy for the night,” he answers, pointing forward. “There’s a space up there.” 

Peter does a well enough parking job that Bucky doesn’t care to complain about with how hungry he is. Once inside the restaurant, there’s a short wait before the host seats them at a booth and gives them menus. 

“Did you go through those furniture catalogs your Dad sent you?” Bucky asks. 

Peter nods, instinctively looking over the kid’s section of the menu. “He seems really excited about moving. Gotta say I am, too.” 

“We were gonna talk to you about setting up some kinda living arrangement schedule. You’ll have to talk to Stark about it.”

“Yeah, I was thinking I alternate days each week between the three of you,” he explains, tapping the edge of the menu with his finger. “Like one week, I’m with Pop Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and the next week, I’m with Dad Tuesday and Thursday.” 

“And weekends?” 

“I guess it just depends.” Peter thinks about it. “I guess it’s open to whoever.”

“And you’re okay with this, right? You’re alright with moving in with us and—” He pauses and gestures vaguely in the air. “Possibly bringing in a brother or sister later on?” 

Peter opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky stops him with a halting wave in his direction. 

“I’m getting a little ahead of myself,” he mumbles below his breath.  “Are you okay with everything is what I’m asking, kid.” 

“Yeah, I am actually,” Peter says, and it’s the honest truth. 

Moments later, their server comes to take their drink order and in the midst of doing so, she winks and flirtatiously flips her hair Bucky’s way in a subtle attempt at getting his attention. The hint goes ignored on his end, but Peter doesn’t miss it. 

“Must be nice,” Peter comments when she walks far enough out of earshot. 

“What?” 

Peter narrows his gaze at the men then nods in the direction the waitress went. “She was totally hitting on you.”

“Was she?” Bucky asks, displaying such an out-of-character state of confusion that it almost feels put on. “I didn’t even notice.” 

“Yeah, well, when your Dad looks like mine, you grow kinda used to it,” Peter chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “Even when he and Pop went out, it was like people had blinders on and completely ignored that unmissable wedding ring. It’s kinda funny looking back on it now.” 

“I just take it as people being nice.” Bucky pauses then adds, “And I’m gay as fuck, so any advances from women go completely over my head.” 

The first few interactions Peter had with Gwen flash across his mind briefly. 

The waitress comes back with Bucky’s beer and Peter’s strawberry lemonade and makes a point to be even more giggly and outspoken when taking their meals orders. She even touches Bucky’s shoulder with an obnoxious laugh when he makes some terrible joke about whatever can be funny about steak. 

When she leaves again, Peter glares at Bucky, overtly flabbergasted by his obliviousness. 

“Okay, she was  _ totally _ flirting with you that time!” he points out. 

Bucky shrugs, clearly unfazed. “I only have eyes for one person.” 

“It wasn’t always that way,” Peter prompts. “Right?” 

“I mean I had little crushes here and there, but they didn’t mean much. Being in love with the same motherfucker since I was thirteen years old stifled a lot of shit when it came to my other relationships, believe it or not.” 

Peter takes a sip of his drink, thinking deeply about that statement. “So, like, you didn’t lose your virginity until my Dad?” 

Bucky eyes the boy incredulously. “I was in love, but that doesn’t mean my dick stopped working, kid.”

Peter grimaces. “Uh, TMI!”

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky scoffs with a small chuckle. “Your Dad was the love of my life and all, but I still had the mindset of a teenage boy. I wasn’t smart a lot of the time, but once I figured myself out, I was solid for a while.” 

“Figured yourself out,” Peter repeats, swiftly looking down at the table then back up at Bucky. “Like, knowing you’re gay.”

“I was lucky to figure it out early on,” he tells him. “Where I’m from, fellas with fellas, ladies with ladies, and everything in between wasn’t seen as something good, so I had an identity crisis for a while and I nearly lost it trying to figure out the why in all of it.” 

“How’d your parents react when you came out?” 

Bucky exhales, eyes darting around as if he can see the memories. “My old man had passed before I even knew what the hell being gay was,” he recalls. “It wasn’t until we moved to Brooklyn that it all began, and I thought it had something to do with Pop being gone. I was scared shitless to tell my mom because our family was religious in every sense of the word. Fuck, my biggest fear was being sent off to boarding school because she was embarrassed that her son was suddenly queer after his father died.” 

“So, what’d your mom say when you told her?” 

“I was a senior in high school, and this was around the time I was growing the balls to ask your Dad to prom,” he starts, beaming from ear to ear at the memory. “I could’ve just told her that we were going as friends, but I can’t lie to that woman for shit. When I told her, it took a moment for her to process and I thought she was gonna throw a plate at my head or something. She was proud of me for telling her, promised it wouldn’t change how she saw me, and that’d I’d always be her little малыш.” 

Peter cocks his head sideways. 

“It’s Russian,” Bucky clarifies. “Baby boy.” 

“You speak Russian?”

He nods. “My grandparents were Russian and we spoke it around the house, which made being friends with your godmother very easy.”

Peter nods, impressed. “Pop speaks Spanish because most of the housekeepers and nannies he had growing up were Dominican or Puerto Rican. I guess it’s a good thing my grandparents ignored him so much because he knows, like, seven languages.”

Bucky hands fly up saying  _ really, kid?  _ “Is there anything you don’t tell people?” he wonders rhetorically. 

Bucky had said before that Peter might have an oversharing problem and just a few days ago, Michelle accused him of talking too much. Considering they’re two of the most private people he knows, he doesn’t take what they say to heart. 

But it does get him thinking. 

“There  _ are _ some things,” Peter answers, focusing on a floating particle of strawberry in his drink. “I mean, Michelle knows, but she would’ve found out anyway ‘cus she’s very observant, I guess.” 

“What kinda things, kid?” 

Now that he’s said something, he wants to turn bashful and hide behind the metaphorical wall of closeted feelings he’s put up since that first night with Johnny. Instead of backing down, he gulps down whatever fear he has and braces himself. 

“It kinda goes back to the whole, um, uh, ya know, gay thing,” he begins, glancing everywhere but at Bucky. “I think I’m bisexual. Wait, no, I  _ am _ bisexual. I think? No, I’m sure I am. Like, I like girls and boys. I did some research and thought I might be pansexual, but a lot of these terms seem to overlap, but I respect the distinction between them.” 

The few seconds Bucky doesn’t immediately reply send Peter into another frenzy of babbling his thoughts, and there doesn’t look to be any stopping the boy. 

“I’m a little confused on what I am really. I just know I’m not straight. Like, at all. Okay, well, maybe a little. Isn’t bisexuality just half heterosexual, half gay? Well, that doesn’t make sense, ‘cus it’s liking two genders, ya know? Your own and whatever other one you like. That includes people who don’t identify with a gender, doesn’t it? Or would that be pansexual? Omnisexual? I looked it up and it’s  _ very  _ similar to pansexual, by the way. I have a friend who’s asexual, but I don’t think that applies to me. We talked about it and she said she actually might be demisexual. Or was it demiromantic? I don’t think that’s what I am either—”

“Kid.”

Peter stops to stare at Bucky. 

“Breathe.” 

The teenager inhales sharply and releases the breath after a couple of seconds. Along with it goes his insecurities and worries but not his everlasting confusion about all of this. 

“That felt good.” 

“Good,” Bucky praises gruffly. “Now, slow down, alright?” 

Peter nods. 

“You’re—” he says then pauses to pick the right word. “Not heterosexual.” 

Peter shakes his head. “I want Harry Styles to punch me,” he states with conviction. “Then I want Big Sean to come behind him and dislocate my spine. Then after him, Chris Hemsworth can break both of my knees.” 

Bucky blinks a few times. “I don’t know who any of them are and all that sounds very personal, so I’m not gonna comment on that,” he says. “However, I am very proud that you decided to open up. It takes a lot of guts, kid. Not everyone is brave enough to even admit it to themselves, let alone another person.” 

Peter exhales again. Deep down, a part of him had the assumption that Bucky would get mad. He doesn’t know where it stems from, but hearing Bucky say he’s proud of him brings a whole new light to coming out. If he’s proud, telling Steve shouldn’t be that much harder. 

“Just don’t tell Dad, okay?” Peter looks back his drink. “Sam knows, so I wanna tell him soon. I just don’t know when.”

“No one's gonna rush you or tell anybody,” Bucky promises sincerely. “It’s  _ your _ secret.  _ Your _ thing.  _ You _ choose when and how.” 

Warmth pools all over Peter’s body. It’s the most encouraging thing Bucky has ever said to him, and it’s weird to get such a feeling from the man he swore he hated just a little over a month ago. 

“And you know your Dad is an understanding person if you decide to wait to tell him,” he continues. “Even if you didn’t tell him until you’re about to walk down the aisle with… what’s his name you said? Big Styles? Harry Hemsworth? Whatever, you know your Dad and he’ll be thrilled regardless.” 

Peter snickers. “Yeah, he will.” 

After coaxing Bucky into flirting with the waitress and telling her it’s his birthday, Peter gets a free dessert. There’s no better way the evening could’ve went.   
  
\--  
  


Even though Michelle made it clear that she isn’t going to get in the water at Shuri’s pool party, the hot pink bathing suit strap poking out from the collar of her striped sundress says otherwise. Peter is about to ask her about it when she climbs into the backseat of the pickup truck, but Steve greets her with a genuine smile and kind eyes through the rearview mirror. 

“Hey, Michelle! How’re you doing today?” 

Michelle smiles back just as generously. “Hi, Mr. Rogers! I’m good.” 

Peter turns around in his seat, taking in how nice she looks in her dress and the practical way her hair is braided up into a neat bun atop her head. 

“You came prepared in case I was gonna dunk you again,” he notices, mischievously wiggling his eyebrows.

“Actually, weirdo, my mom got me this bathing suit from Target and I needed somewhere to wear it before she flipped out about how I never wear the stuff she buys me,” she corrects him matter-of-factly as she slides on her aviators. 

“All the more reason for you to dunk you! To get the full experience!” 

“Dunk me and I will drown you in your own urine,” she threatens before sweetening up her voice to refer to Steve. “Is that alright with you, Mr. Rogers?”

“Whatever you two get into is your business.” 

  
  
  


Michelle thanks Steve when he drops them off at Sam’s house. Before they can go, Steve does his usual check of Peter having his phone and keys which, judging by the look on Michelle’s face, she finds endearing. 

“I think it’s sweet,” she says to Peter after he mumbles something about Steve being overprotective. “I mean he is your parent.” 

“Yeah, but I’m seventeen,” Peter insists, following the music from the stereo and the smell of barbecue to the backyard. “I’m very responsible.” 

“There’ll be a day where you wish he was on your ass about everything,” Michelle warns him, shutting the metal gate barriered between the walkway and the backyard. 

“That day won’t be anytime soon,” Peter says low enough where she can’t catch it. 

Guests are scattered at different areas of the backyard from the food canopies, hammocks, inside the pool, or lingering in the shade. With every party Shuri throws, there’s someone working the grill while somebody else deejays the music, and there isn’t a single bad vibe to be felt. 

Like both times before, Shuri is wearing something fashionable with her hair done up immaculately and warmly greets Peter when he shows up. She excuses herself from her group of friends to meet him halfway across the lawn. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were gonna make it, Queens,” Shuri teases. “Would’ve been such a dull time without you.” 

“Whatever, smartie,” he utters and steps aside to point at Michelle. “This is my friend, Michelle. Michelle, this is my cousin and ball buster, Shuri.” 

“ _ Professional _ ball buster,” Shuri adds pointedly and offers a hand to Michelle. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re a lot better-looking than Peter’s potato salad.” 

A quip about never even tasting his potato salad is on its way out of Peter’s mouth, but he aborts it when he catches onto how smooth Shuri is. He looks up at Michelle, shying away, probably wishing her hair was down to hide her idiotic grin as she shakes Shuri’s hand. With a set up like that, she’d usually have something witty to say about how weird or dumb Peter is, but she’s downright dazzled by Shuri. All she can offer is a wave and a soft “hello” that nearly goes unheard if they weren’t so close. 

“There’s food and drinks under the canopy,” Shuri says, pointing off to the side then behind her. “We just put some more chicken on grill. You like chicken, right? If not, there’s burgers, hot dogs—”

“She’s a vegetarian,” Peter informs her since the cat seems to have Michelle’s tongue. “But we’ll find something.” 

Shuri eyes Michelle dubiously. “Okay, then?” she says and starts backing away. “I’m gonna go put my swimsuit on. Be back out in a few, I guess?” 

Peter waits until Shuri has gone inside the house to smirk up at Michelle. Instantly out of her trance, Michelle frowns and regards Peter with a lethal side eye. 

“Don’t say a fucking word.” 

“It’s okay.” He nudges her elbow. “Shuri has that effect on people.”

“Peter, shut up.” 

“For a moment in time, I looked at Shuri like that too,” he confesses. “But who doesn’t, ya know?”

“I’m gonna kick you!” she hisses and begins to walk away from him to help herself to a water but he follows. 

“Ned was pretty blown away by her, too,” he continues. 

“Ned is blown away by everything,” she reminds him and gets two bottles of water from a cooler under the canopy. “But, if I were to indulge you, I’d say she’s very pretty and the most interesting thing about you.” 

“I wish I would’ve gotten a video of you freezing up for blackmail.” 

“It won’t happen again.” 

“We’ll see,” he says, takes a drink of water, then waves behind Michelle. “Hey, Shuri!” 

With wide eyes, Michelle’s shoulders tense as she whips around in an instant only to slap Peter in his shoulder when she sees no one is there. 

The friends that recognize Peter from previous get togethers invite him in on a game of pool football. Before joining them, Peter suggests Michelle hang out with Shuri and her girl friends in the shade to which she resists choking him for. When he looks back at her on the way to the pool, Michelle is seated beside Shuri, making light conversation with one of Shuri’s friends. 

It puts a huge smile on his face. 

  
  
  


A few lost games of pool football and a diving board flip contest later, Peter sits at the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in the water and a popsicle in hand. He would’ve joined Shuri and her friends in their dance huddle, but he wouldn’t feel right leaving Michelle by herself as she wades in an empty corner of the pool. 

“What flavor is that?” she asks, pointing to his popsicle. 

“Ya know, I can’t tell, actually. You wanna taste?” He offers the treat out to her. 

“Do you have herpes?” she inquires in mock concern, swimming over and reaching for it anyway. 

“No, you weirdo.” 

Michelle experimentally licks the popsicle and smacks her lips together rapidly. “That’s a weird mix of cherry and blueberry,” she decides, handing it back to him. 

“Really? I was thinking blueberry and lime.” 

“Lime tastes nothing like cherry.” 

“It’s all processed flavors and corn syrup anyway.” He stands from his spot on the edge of the pool. “I’ll go get you one.” 

Peter checks one of the canopy coolers for more Popsicles but comes up empty. He asks one of Shuri’s friends if there’s more and is directed to the kitchen where any leftover food and drinks would be. 

The freezer is full of mostly ice cream and frozen meat, so Peter rummages through until he finds the Popsicles. Ultimately he knows it doesn’t matter which flavor he chooses since they all tastes the same, but it takes him a while to decide on one that he thinks Michelle would like.

Satisfied with a raspberry and watermelon Popsicle, Peter swiftly spins on his heels to exit the kitchen and collides right into someone else, crushing his own Popsicle against their bare chest. 

“Jeez, my bad—” he begins frantically and looks up to apologize properly. 

An instant wave of nausea overtakes Peter upon looking up into Johnny’s familiar brown eyes and seeing him look back just as shocked. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, unsure of how this is supposed to play out. What is he even supposed to say? He hasn’t seen or heard from him in ten days, but he’s sure that  _ “Hey, thanks for blocking me on everything and acting like I don’t exist, babe! That was super cool of you to do for no reason!”  _ isn’t going to roll off the tongue that well. 

Should he just say nothing, walk away, and pretend he hasn’t seen Johnny? Scream at him for leaving him? Did he leave him? Was it a breakup? Were they together?

On top of all of  that, he just ruined his Popsicle all over this fucker’s chest. 

This whole situation is just awkward. 

Peter should walk away, pretend he isn’t in this predicament, and enjoy the rest of the party. That would be best for his own sanity, but Peter has never known what is was best for him. 

“What the fuck?” he blurts out before he can stop himself, and doesn’t regret it even when Johnny squints at him, stepping to the challenge. 

“Excuse me?”

Peter crosses his arms across his chest, taking a firm stance before the older boy. 

Johnny rolls his eyes and makes to leave, muttering about how he doesn’t have time to deal with this. Peter steps over the Popsicle puddle to put himself in Johnny’s way, earning him a groan of frustration. 

“Why are you walking away from me?” Peter asks, genuinely confused. “Don’t you think we should talk?” 

“What is there to talk about?” 

_ There’s no way he’s serious.  _ “What do you mean what is there to talk about? Johnny, I haven’t seen or heard from you in almost two weeks.” 

“Yeah, there's a reason for that.” Johnny takes a step forward, attempting to get by Peter but he doesn’t allow it, further agitating Johnny.

“The reason being you blocked me. Like, on everything. You don’t even use Tumblr and you blocked me there. What gives?” 

“You want some kinda explanation?” 

Peter nods erratically, arms up in bafflement. Is this a glitch in the simulation? Is he even conscious? “Yes!”  

“I don’t owe you one. I don’t owe you anything,” he states definitively in a stern tone that rattles Peter. It’s his turn to squint at Johnny now. 

“What’s that even mean? I’m not saying you owe me anything, Johnny. I’m just saying I’ve missed you. Like, a lot. You haven’t checked up on me since I left the hospital, and you think you don’t have to explain yourself?” 

“Why does it even matter? You weren’t even my boyfriend for real, so why are you getting all in your feelings about it?” 

“What the hell does me being your boyfriend have to do with what you did? You ghosted me!” 

Johnny nonchalantly shrugs. “Guess I really am Patrick Swayze.” 

“That is the  _ farthest _ thing from funny.” 

“Nobody is laughing.”

At first glance the blasé attitude seems real, but Peter knows Johnny well enough to know that this isn’t how he is. He’s not that guy who spontaneously cuts people off without a warning or hesitation; Johnny’s heart is bruised but huge, and he wouldn’t treat anyone he cares about like this. 

Even though Peter knows this, it still hurts to be on the receiving end. 

“Johnny, please, don’t,” Peter begs, closing the narrow space between them and putting a hand around his wrist. “Don’t, okay? You don’t have to be that way with me. Just be real with me.” 

To touch Johnny again after such a long time—ten days is long for him—feels kinda new and exciting even if he’s touched this man more time than he can count. Early signs of Johnny’s resolve break when their skin makes contact, but he’s still not looking Peter in the eye. 

“C’mon, Peter,” Johnny growls, pulling away from him. “You had to have known this shit wasn't gonna work out.” 

“That’s not fair to me if you make that decision for both of us, like, without even talking to me. Why run from something that hasn’t happened yet?” 

“It already has.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

Johnny makes another attempt to get past Peter, but Peter is too quick getting in his way and putting his hands on Johnny’s wrists again. “Just talk to me, please. What are you talking about?” 

Johnny shakes his head, closing himself off completely despite Peter’s pleading. “We just gotta let it go. We had fun. That’s it.” 

“You really expect me to take that answer.” 

“It’s the only answer I’ve got.” 

“Bullshit!” he exclaims, denial setting in. “Johnny, please, just tell me what’s wrong. Is it ‘cus of Rumlow? I’m not mad at you for what happened, if that’s what you think.” 

“Peter, just drop it and accept this for what it is.” 

“Accept what for what?” His skin is growing hot with anger now. “Accept being ignored when I feel the way I do about you? That’s such a cruel thing to do to someone, and I should be telling you off for it, but I just want an answer. What’d I do wrong, Johnny?” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s just something that had to happen, so please just let it—”

“If I didn’t do anything then why did you ghost me? If you just wanted to get rid of me, you could’ve talked to me about us and explained yourself instead of removing me from your life,” he suggests, throat tightening and closing at the idea of being toxic in Johnny’s life. “It would’ve hurt, but if you just done that, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation right now.” 

Johnny hangs his head, unable to look at Peter because he knows he’s right. “Why can’t you just accept that I don’t have a real explanation for you and leave it alone?” 

Peter shakes his head. “Because you do, and you’re not telling me ‘cus you’re scared,” he guesses desperately. “And it’s okay that you’re scared. ‘Cus I’m scared! I wanna be scared with you. Johnny, I really, really don’t want it to be this way.”

His begging falls on deaf ears. Johnny shakes his head and takes his hands back from Peter to cross his arms. The action stabs right through Peter’s chest, but he keeps his composure as best he can. 

“None of that matters now,” Johnny says, digging the knife deeper. “It’s just whatever.” 

Tears sting Peter’s eyes. His throat is still closing, but he has to get these words out before breaking down completely. “It mattered when we went to karaoke and when you came over for dinner. Or when we skinny dipped in the lake, went to the carnival, and you came over when my parents were gone and I was scared.” 

Johnny shakes his head again, waving off what Peter said with a dismissive hand. “Like I said, it was fun. It’s done now.” 

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings? Is this some tactic to get me to leave you alone, so you don’t have to face what happened? It was an accident! I know it was an accident, so you don’t have to punish yourself by pushing me away—” 

“You’re making this out to be everything it isn’t.” 

Peter shuts his mouth, searching Johnny’s face for a sign of weakness but there isn’t one. His expression is stone cold and unwavering even as Peter’s looking up at him with the widest, saddest eyes ever.

“D-d-do you really not want me anymore?” the boy asks, bottom lip quivering. “Is this how you want it to be?” 

Johnny’s stare falters and he glances off to the side. “Yeah, I do.” 

There’s no way that knife is coming out now. 

Peter sniffles and quickly wipes a stray tear from his eye before it can reach his cheek. He tries to match Johnny’s nonchalance, but it doesn’t stick.

“I would’ve respected you more if you would’ve told me to my face that you didn’t want me around anymore,” Peter says, moving out of Johnny’s way and staring down at the blue puddle and wooden stick that once was his Popsicle. 

Johnny lingers for a moment and the last bit of hope left in Peter hopes he’ll say something. With nothing else to say, he exits the kitchen and goes back outside into the backyard, leaving Peter by himself again. He’s grateful no one comes looking for him because the sight of him cleaning Sam’s floor with tears rushing down his face would depress anyone.

  
  


 

Even when night falls, he keeps his sunglasses on for the rest of the party to shield his red rimmed eyes. In an odd turn of events, he sticks by Michelle’s side until her mother picks them up. Everything between his conversation with Johnny and now as he’s walking through the front door of his house is a blur. If he thinks hard enough, he knows Shuri thanked them for coming and gave her cell number to Michelle. Michelle might have affectionately called him a dumbass before she and her mom drove off, but he’s not too sure. 

Once inside the house, he waves weakly at his Dad and Bucky watching television in the living room and pretends not to hear one of them ask if he had fun. 

It didn’t matter how many times he washes and changes his bed sheets. Everything still smells of Johnny and it’s because of his duffel bag of clothes that Peter hasn’t looked at or touched since discovering he was blocked. 

Peter cries quietly in the shower in between shampooing his hair and washing his body. When he gets out, he dries off and puts on one of Johnny’s t-shirts even if it is too big for him and downright masochistic. 

That distinct mix of trees, gasoline, and cologne that make up Johnny’s scent is all Peter can register through another batch of tears when he sits at the bay window overlooking the lake. There’s a stillness to the nature of nighttime out here that he envies; he wishes his head and heart could be in agreement or at least be at peace. 

His head tells him he really hates Johnny and doesn’t care whether the man lives or dies. His heart says the exact opposite, and it makes for a very rough night. 

There’s no better way to put it—this shit  _ hurts _ . 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, um, I love HalcyonSeasons. Enjoy.

Once Peter came to the realization that what happened with Johnny hurts more than his parents’ divorce, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

The closest thing to heartbreak that Peter has ever experienced was when his parents told him they were splitting up, but his wounds have healed for the most part with that situation. Now that he sees it was for the best, it doesn’t hurt anymore. He loves Bucky and how happy he makes Steve, and he’s ecstatic that they’ll be moving in together officially.

Unsure of how he’s supposed to cope in the aftermath of the confrontation, Peter distracts himself by picking up more shifts at the diner, driving with Bucky, and calling Ned more often at space camp. He comes home at the end of the month and they have a date to hang out one more time before school starts in a few weeks.

If he picked up on the weird way Peter has been acting, he doesn’t comment on it.

May, however, is different and lets nothing go unnoticed.

“And you’re sure you’re okay, tiger?” she asks for what feels like the thousandth time over the course of a five minute phone call.

“Yes, May, I’m fine,” Peter insists, tossing clothes into piles, separating them to do laundry.

“Really? ‘Cus I gotta be honest with you. Ever since that showdown with that Brock Rumlow guy, you’ve been a little different. Not a bad different! Just…” She pauses and Peter worriedly glances over at his phone on the nightstand like she’s right there with him.

“Just?” he prompts.

“I don’t know,” she finishes. “I have a sixth sense when it comes to you, and I know when there’s something different. I’m not saying it’s bad or anything, but I just know. Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Peter stops fussing with his clothes to stare at the wall, thinking to himself.

He could tell May that he doesn’t identify as straight, completing the circle of gay energy surrounding their little family. Considering the lesbian aunt, bisexual fathers, and gay potential stepfather, there’s no way Peter would’ve turned out heterosexual.

He could also tell her about Johnny and how he all but killed Peter with just a few short words. Peter knows May wouldn’t tell Steve or Tony and that it’d be their little secret, but saying any of this out loud makes it too real. Johnny, essentially, _dumped_ him. The logistics of what they were in terms of a title don’t matter—whether they were partners, lovers, friends, or boyfriends. They were _together_.

And now they’re not.

And it hurts.

Peter likes to think that because he’s switched from sadness to anger that he’s almost over it, but deep down, he’s not. This wound is going to need time to heal. The impromptu break-up playlist he put together the night of said break-up helps in doses.

“No,” he says. “Nothing much, really.”

May is probably narrowing her eyes sharply on her end of the call. “Peter, you know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you know I won’t say anything to your parents.”

Peter nods to himself. “I know.”

“Even if you killed somebody and don’t know where to put the body!”

“I get it, May.”

She exhales. “I just miss you, Peter,” she goes on and Peter knows her well enough, she’s probably pacing the kitchen with her round bifocals perched at the edge of her nose. “It’s been a weird summer with you being gone, and not seeing you on your birthday is weird since I’ve seen you on your birthday every time for the last sixteen years.”

“I know.”

“And this stuff with your parents is still throwing me for a loop because I keep forgetting you’re not just down the street anymore. You have a whole new home somewhere else.”

“I’m still staying with Tony, and Dad said the new house is in Queens and not that far from you, May.”

“Oh, and don’t even get me started on the fact that you’re going to be a _senior_ ,” she continues, barely listening to him now. “Dad told me you started driving and I just can’t believe my little baby is actually _seventeen_ , and I turn _forty-freakin’-eight_ in just two months—”

This is the part where she goes off on her usual rambles, so Peter gets comfortable and prepares to “mhm” his way through the rest of the conversation. She’s not prone to freaking out and going on tangents, but when she does, they tend to last a while.

Somehow the conversation goes from May coming to the realization that she’s turning forty-eight to Peter’s birth story that he’s heard maybe a million times to how different he’s going to be when he gets back to Queens. She says something about how he’ll probably be taller, but he has to remind her that he’s seventeen and almost done puberty, and that triggers another set of stories about when he was a baby.

The phone call itself lasts two hours, which isn’t abnormal for May. He knows she’s only this way because she loves him so much and misses him.

The only thing to get him off the phone is the light knock on his door and Bucky’s voice on the other side saying, “Put a move on it, kid, or we’re gonna miss our movie!”

“Okay!” he calls to the closed door, hand covering the mouth piece of his phone. “Hey, uh, May?”

“…And then when I went off to college, it was like a parade of women everywhere and I had no idea what to do with myself—”

Peter crosses the room to get a clean shirt from out of the dresser. “May,” he tries louder.

“—that pot brownie had more than just marijuana in it, lemme tell you _that_ , kiddo—“

“May!” he exclaims as kindly as he can, and the line goes silent for a moment.

“Yeah?” she squeaks.

“I was trying to tell you I gotta go. We’re seeing a movie.”

“Oh, a movie! How fun,” she says. “What movie? Who’s we?”

Peter pulls a grey scoop neck from the mess of unfolded shirts in the top drawer. “Bucky and I are seeing _The Dark Tower.”_

“You and Bucky, huh? Where’s Dad?”

“He’s behind on some work for this new exhibit he got commissioned for, so he decided to stay home.”

“Hmph,” May hums. “I’m glad you and Bucky are getting along so nicely. I’ve always liked him.”

“Yeah, he’s the best,” Peter agrees, pulling his shirt on. “May, I’ll text you when I’m home, okay?”

“Alright, tiger,” she says with a sad lilt in her voice. “You have to spend the night at least once before you go back to school. You hear me?”

“Yes, I will. I promise.”

May sighs. “Be good. I love you.”

“Love you, too!”

Peter disconnects the call and tucks his phone in his pocket.

In the sudden silence of his bedroom, it abruptly occurs to Peter that he has a little less than a month left before going back to school and even less here in Ithaca if they’re leaving right after Labor Day.

Is it too early to start packing and preparing to say good goodbyes to all the wonderful people he met? He was so stuck on Johnny that he barely remembered that he won’t get to hang out with Michelle or be at Peggy’s diner everyday for the next nine months. Coming back next year isn’t even a guarantee.

This place has become his home away from home, and he doesn’t want to leave. Obviously, he misses his Pop, May, and Ned, but if he could, he’d bring something back with him to ease the hurt and smoothen the transition from one place to the other.

_Maybe that’s what Bucky is._

  
  
  


A couple of days later, Peter is finishing up a mid-shift at Peggy’s diner at the same time Gwen is coming in for the evening.

“Hey, Gwen!” he says with a wave as she clocks in. She smiles at him in that flirtatious way she does every time they talk, and strangely enough, he’s going to miss that, too.

“Hey, I was hoping I’d run into you,” she says, moving away from the podium so that he can clock out. “Sally’s brother is taking us out on the lake tonight for a little midnight boat ride, so I was gonna ask if you wanted to come. It’ll be fun!”

Peter clocks out of the system and nods to himself, taking in what she’s saying. A boat ride at night with friends does sound fun.

“Oh, I’d love to go, but I’ve already got plans tonight,” he tells her with a shrug. “Michelle and I are going bowling.”

Gwen’s neatly done eyebrows fly up as her head tilts sideways in calculation. “Oh.”

“Yeah, whoever has the highest score at the end of three games has to pay for dinner, but I’m pretty sure I’ll end up paying anyway.”

“Well, that’s sweet. I mean, you can always bring her along if you want.”

Peter can’t tell if it’s the way she said that or the statement itself that doesn’t sit right with him. Michelle previously indicated that Gwen and her friends are always the nicest behind Michelle’s back, but he’s not sure where Gwen is coming from.

He shakes his head. “Um, no, we’re good, but you guys enjoy.”

Gwen’s smile drops into a grimace. She doesn’t attempt to hide her disappointment when she asks, “How long have you guys been dating?”

On paper, it would seem like he and Michelle are dating, but they already jumped that ship together. If Peter is honest with himself, he would like to not be reminded of their awkward crush phase and just continue being best friends.

“We’re not dating,” he says, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands at his sides. “We’re just friends.”

“You guys are really cute together. That’s all I meant by that,” she clarifies, looking away with a brisk eye roll.  

“We’re friends,” he repeats. “Platonically. Ya know, like, Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey.”

Gwen’s giggle is tense but she nods anyway. “I feel kinda silly, that’s all,” she admits and gestures to him. “I’ve liked you since the beginning of the summer and had no clue how to tell you. I thought I made it obvious, but you never made a move, so I just assumed you and Michelle were, um, a thing.”

Peter exhales steadily. He hasn’t anticipated this moment, but he's nothing if not honest.

“I appreciate you telling me, and if I led you on or made it awkward in any way, I’m, like, really sorry. I like you as a friend, Gwen, and if it’s okay, I’d love to just be that.”

Her expression is caught between a frown and a grin. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” she says, looking to her feet then quickly back up to him. “Thanks for not being a jerk about everything.”

Peter smiles now, blushing as he does. “I gotta get going,” he says, thumb pointing to the front entrance. “You guys have fun tonight.”

She lifts her head and manages a small, tight-lipped smile. “We gotta do something before you go back home, Peter.”

“Of course!” he promises, waving goodbye as he exits the restaurant. Winter is parked in the lot with Bucky in the passenger seat waiting for him.

When they get home, Bucky and Peter both head to the basement to bother Steve and temporarily distract him from finishing his current commission for some rich, French ambassador whose name they make fun of. Before Steve can fling a half-empty tube of paint at them for being so annoying, they leave him alone and go upstairs.

“Kid, you wanna help me cook tonight or what?” Bucky asks, peering in the fridge for the thawed chicken breasts Steve mentioned in passing. “I’m thinking chicken fajitas. Or do you want something different?”

Peter reaches under Bucky to grab the orange juice. “You don’t have to make me a plate. I’m going out with Michelle tonight,” he reminds him, pouring a glass and then putting the carton back.

“Ah, yes,” he agrees with a nod, dropping the chicken onto the counter. “So, fajitas it is then! When are you leaving?”

Peter checks the time and sips his juice. “In, like, a few hours.”

Bucky gives him a once over and snickers. “I hope you plan on showering. You smell like grease.”

“You’re one to talk,” Peter replies, pointing accusingly.

“I smell like _car_ grease,” he corrects him, grabbing spices from their rack in the pantry then washing his hands. “You have this weird hormonal-teenage-boy-mixed-with-chicken-grease-and-sweat thing going on.”

Peter lifts his arm to sniff his armpit and while it’s not terribly potent, his deodorant has definitely worn off and he could use another shower.

“Whatever, man,” Peter grumbles on his way up the stairs while Bucky laughs loud enough for him to still hear it in his bedroom.

While he showers, Peter’s phone rings, momentarily interrupting the playlist on his speakers. He assumes it’s Michelle following up on their plans and doesn't think twice about it until it rings a second, third, and fourth time all within two minutes.

“What the hell?” he mutters, shuttling the faucet off and getting out the shower. He dries his hands with a towel and checks his phone, getting the shock of his life when he actually sees Johnny’s name instead of Michelle’s.

Peter doesn’t get the chance to process it before the phone is ringing again with Johnny’s name across his screen. It takes a moment but Peter presses the green button without thinking.

As soon as the call connects, he holds his breath, unsure of what he’s waiting for. Despite answering, he’s not gonna say the first hello.

Another beat of silence goes by before Johnny suddenly exhales into the receiver. “Hey.”

Peter exhales too but still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he has the voice to if he wanted.

“Are you busy?”

Peter shakes his head. “Uh, just got out the shower when I saw you called.”

“Oh, um, cool,” he says, taking an awkward pause before sighing and continuing. “Hey, uh, do you think you that if I come by your way, we could maybe talk?”

At first, the question doesn’t register.

Johnny wants to talk.

 _Wow_.

Instinctively, Peter wants to get an attitude and yell about how _now_ it’s convenient for Johnny to talk when they had the opportunity a week ago. Instead, he frowns down at the phone. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

“It’ll only take a second,” Johnny quickly pleads. “I promise it won’t be long.”

“You can’t tell me over the phone?” he demands.

“What I wanna say isn’t really meant to be over the phone.”

Peter shakes his head, battling with himself over what to do. If this is a trick, he’s gonna feel like such an idiot. If it’s pure and Johnny really does want to have a conversation, he’ll feel like an even bigger idiot for hating him so much.

This is a lose-lose situation no matter how he looks at it. He already prepared himself to let Johnny go and not see him ever again, and all of that is about to come crumbling down because he can’t resist this man for anything.

“What are you doing to me?” Peter utters away from the receiver and mentally kicks his own ass. This isn’t going to end well.

“This better be important,” Peter grumbles, crossing his arms. _The nerve of this guy!_

“It is, I swear.”

“I don’t believe you, but whatever.”

“Peter, I promise it’s not any bullshit, okay? We just, it’s, I’m—” He stops himself, gathering his thoughts frustratedly. “I’m on my way over now.”

Peter has never known Johnny to get flustered and it softens something inside him. “Yeah,” he says, taking the hard edge out of his tone. “I’ll be here.”

Peter disconnects the call first to avoid an awkward goodbye and sits on the edge of the tub trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Johnny wants to talk and he’s coming over.

_Johnny wants to talk and he’s coming over._

Peter puts on a cuter outfit than the one he planned and a little cologne even though he knows this isn’t one of their dates and Johnny doesn’t deserve the effort. He can convince himself he’s not at all bothered by Johnny, but the way Peter flies down the stairs when his “come outside” text flashes on Peter’s phone says otherwise.

“Have fun, kid!” Bucky shouts on Peter’s way out the door, but the teenager is too preoccupied with appearing unfazed to say anything back.

Johnny’s hooptie is parked facing the lake a fair enough distance from the porch. The evening air is brisk, making Peter shiver a bit on his walk over.

Plopping down into the passenger seat, leaning over to peck Johnny’s face, and intertwining their fingers is like second nature to Peter, but he resists doing the latter of the three when he gets in the car. He crosses his arms and stares straight ahead at the lake, limbs shaking with how badly he wants to get close to Johnny and be told everything is okay between them. It would be so easy to just tease Johnny’s unorthodox range of music, how junky his backseat is, or that he needs to change the freshener hanging around the rear view mirror.

It’s so hard to just sit here.

“You smell nice,” Johnny says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

Peter clears his throat, making a show of how unenthused he is when in reality, his nerves are like livewires.

Johnny picks up on the tone and nods. “Right, uh, we need to talk.”

Peter hunches and drops his shoulders. _So, talk_.

“I don’t even know how to begin,” Johnny starts, looking down at his lap and then at the side of Peter’s face. “I don’t know what to say first except that I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry or are you apologizing?” Peter asks, never turning away from the lake.

“I’m apologizing,” Johnny corrects himself. “I owe you a huge ass apology for just about everything that’s happened the last two weeks.”

_Eighteen days, but who's counting?_

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything, and I think during the process, I realized a lot of fucked up shit about myself,” he goes on, leaning back in the driver’s seat. “Shit about myself I didn’t wanna come to terms with, but if I wanna do this properly, I have to dig deep.”

If this is going to turn into a therapy session, Peter doesn’t have the licensing nor patience to hear excuses about why Johnny did what he did.

“The thing with Brock,” Johnny says. “I’m sorry you saw me that way. I thought I left my temper in the past, but sometimes, I’m not so sure. It was fucked up of me to not check up on you even though it’s my fault you were in the hospital in the first place.”

“You know I was never mad at you about what happened, right?” Peter interjects.

Johnny nods. “Yeah, but it scared me that you weren’t. It was weird for you not to be.”

“I know it was an accident. I’m mad at you for ghosting me and acting like I was crazy when I asked you why.” Those moments replay back in the back of Peter’s mind and it still stings even as Johnny gives him puppy eyes. “Like, why can’t you just be real with me and tell me what the hell happened?”

“Will you accept that I got scared and ran ‘cus of how I feel about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it scared me to lose control on Brock’s creep ass the way I did over someone who I thought was supposed to be a sweet, summer fling,” Johnny admits, turning to Peter. “It scared me that I wanted to kill him for putting his hands on you.”

Peter flinches, his resolve cracking.

“I ghosted because I’m an idiot who started feeling strong things about this boy who has to leave soon, and the only way I thought I knew to not feel anything when he did was to push him away. But it didn’t work because I need him like oxygen when he’s not around.”

Despite this, Peter stays strong and refuses to look over at Johnny. His heart is swelling in his chest, but he ignores it.

“The truth is that I got rid of you to save myself, and I chose myself when it came to who would be okay,” Johnny continues, shame lacing his words. “It was incredibly selfish, and you should hate my ass for it.”

Peter does… or at least he _did…_ He _thought_ he _did._ He looks down at his lap.

“I don’t know how to ever properly apologize for the pain I inflicted on you and the fucked up way I’ve been acting.” Johnny shakes his head. “I hate that I ran at the first sign of real significance between us when all I wanted to do was just _melt_ in that feeling. Every time it’s happened before, I found a way out and lived fine regardless of how the other person dealt with it.

“This kinda thing has worked on everyone else _but_ you. I was able to push people away and burn bridges with no problem because it felt like nothing to me. No one has _ever_ called me out on being scared the way you did and it’s what made you different.”

Peter shuts his eyes, shaking his head with doubt. “You don’t think I was scared, too? I’ve never done these kinds of thing with anyone. I trusted you, and you made it look so easy to just leave me—”

His breath catches in his throat, but he inhales. He doesn’t want to cry right now, but he might not have a say in the matter.

“You said you didn’t want me, Johnny,” Peter reminds him, voice unstable and weary. “I was scared as hell that I did something to you, and you said it didn't matter.”

“I said those things to push you away, and I could lie and say I didn’t mean to hurt you, but that’s exactly what I meant to do,” Johnny confesses with a glare out his window, unable to watch Peter break down. “I thought if I stayed away, I’d be okay, but I wasn’t okay at all. I miss you, and not having you hurts so fucking bad, babe.”

The nickname strikes Peter deep. He’s going to fully lose it if he doesn’t get a quick grip on his emotions in the next few seconds.

“I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re not there,” he continues. “It’s corny, but it’s the truth. I have never known what to do when it comes to feeling this way about someone else except ghost, but I can’t do that with you. I want you, and I don’t want you to leave without knowing I think the sun shines out of your ass.”

Peter chuckles once and covers his face. “Don’t talk to me like we’re in a movie, okay? It’s going to make me forgive you when I wanna stay mad at you forever.”

“You can stay mad, never forgive me, and damn me to hell, but my feelings aren’t going to change. I’m still gonna want you.”

Peter finally looks over Johnny, helpless to the gaze he gets in return. “You want me?”

“More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

The frigid front Peter put on melts the instant those words leave Johnny’s mouth. He begins to smile, but quickly shields it. He doesn’t know if he should even believe Johnny, but it’s hard not to.

“I didn’t wanna talk and apologize with the hopes of you taking me back,” Johnny reassures him. “I had to get these things off my chest because it was killing me for you to not know the truth.”

“And the truth is that you and I don’t know what we’re doing,” Peter adds, eyes scanning everywhere across Johnny’s face just in case none of this is real and Johnny will dissipate to dust right before him. “I’m scared, too, but I never would’ve done that to you. I would’ve _never_ set out to hurt you.”

“I know,” Johnny mumbles and his face shows just how  embarrassed he is.

Peter can’t take that look. He’s so weak for it. He hates that he is and that he let himself soften at the sincerity of it all. Should he believe Johnny? He already planned to never see him again and live with the rest of his life with the lasting impression that Johnny is some fuckboy who doesn’t care.

But he isn’t.

Well, Johnny _is_ a fuckboy for doing what he did, but he _does_ care at least enough to explain himself.

Peter is very confused.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“You can’t ever do this to me again,” he croaks, tears stinging his eyes but he blinks them away. “It was the meanest thing you could’ve done to me, and I don’t ever wanna feel this way again.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

Johnny looks back over at Peter, regarding the boy closely. “I mean it,” he declares with conviction.

Peter nods to more himself than Johnny and looks forward again.  “I’m still unbelievably mad at you.”

“Rightfully so.”

“I don’t even know if I still hate you.”

“It’s okay if you do. I deserve it.”

Peter puts his face in his hands and rubs his temples. “Jeez, what am I doing?” he says to himself and side eyes Johnny. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Forgiving you,” he whispers into his hands. “I don’t think I can take another day just being so gone on you and not being able to do anything about it.”

“You saying what I think you saying?” Johnny asks.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying,” he admits. “I don’t know what to do ‘cus my feelings are still hurt, but I just want things to be the same as they were before.”

“I’m sor—I apologize. If I could, I’d go back and fix everything. Everything would be so different if I hadn’t handled everything—”

“Like a pussy,” Peter utters, shocked at himself for actually saying it out loud, but thankfully Johnny nods along in agreement.

“I want us the way we were too, but like I said, I didn’t come over to try and win you back or anything.”

Peter frowns. “So, you don’t want to, like, uh—”

Is “get back together” the right term for two people who were just dating?

He leaves the sentence open for Johnny’s own interpretation. The man leans on the middle console to closely analyze Peter’s dissatisfied expression.

“I already told you I want you,” Johnny says. “Whether we take that somewhere or walk away from each other is up to you. I’ll respect whatever you want.”

Walking away from Johnny is the last thing Peter wants, but does he want actually want to get back together with him? Is his lust and passion for Johnny clouding his better judgement of leaving the whole situation alone? Are his hurt feelings the reason why he’s hesitating?

Peter is _so fucking confused_ and doesn’t know what’s best for him.

He turns to Johnny, eyes wide and terribly scared. Johnny stares back, lifting his eyebrows expectantly.

_Fuck it._

Refusing to waste another second, Peter surges forward, encasing Johnny’s face between his hands and placing an uncoordinated kiss on his lips.

Johnny freezes, unsure of what to do for only a fraction of a second before relaxing within the kiss and returning the gesture.

Peter heaves a sigh of relief onto Johnny's face before pulling away and pecking his cheek. Johnny’s grin is wide and goofy, and if a blush could show against his brown cheeks, it’d be bright red to match Peter’s.

“I missed you,” Peter says, holding Johnny’s face in his hands like he’ll never let go. “I missed you so much.”

“We have so much time to make up for.”

“We do, don’t we?”

Johnny pulls one of Peter’s hands from his face to kiss the palm and wrist. “We can start tonight.”

“Okay,” Peter says, but shakes his head a second after. “Wait, I can’t tonight. I have plans with a friend.”

“That’s fine, babe. I'm free tomorrow.” Johnny captures Peter’s lips in another kiss, inserting his tongue just enough for in his mouth for Peter’s eyes to rolls back with pleasure. He would’ve deepened the kiss if he weren’t in front of his house where Steve or Bucky could easily walk out and see them, so he pushes lightly on Johnny’s neck to end the kiss. Peter swallows and tries to blink through the haze of the other boy’s presence, but all he can see, feel, hear, taste, and smell is _Johnny_ , _Johnny, Johnny…_

“Um, I could, uh, reschedule with them, though,” he stammers. “I mean I’m already with you and, uh, ya know, sh-she won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s a miracle Peter’s neck doesn’t snap with how fast he shakes his head in affirmation. “Yes! It’s okay. It’s fine. I just gotta text her,” he says, taking his phone from his pocket. His thumbs fly across the screen.

 _Something came up,_ he writes to Michelle. _Can’t go out tonight :(_

 _“_ You need anything from inside?” Johnny asks, starting the car.

Peter has his phone already, so he shakes his head. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

“Where do you wanna go?”

Peter’s phone vibrates and chirps.

 _Is everything ok?_ she replies.

 _everything’s perfect! I promise I’ll make it up to you :)_  

“Um,” Peter thinks aloud, smiling down at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket. “Anywhere.”

“You wanna go back to my place?” Johnny suggests.

Peter’s eyebrows fly up. He’s never been to Johnny’s apartment.

“Uh, um, your sister won’t care?” he asks, nervously scratching his neck.

 “Sue’s still out of town. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can just go to—”

“No, it’s fine!” Peter interrupts, placing a hand on Johnny’s arm. “No, your place is fine. Your apartment. Where you live.”

Over eighteen days since they’d been together and one would think Peter would stop being so awkward over their relationship, but some things don’t change.

Johnny grins. “I missed you.”

Even if Peter did know what’s best for him, he definitely wouldn’t do it anyway.

  


 

Johnny lives in the apartment complex half an hour away from town, but they get there in forty-five minutes after they stop at the grocery store to get ingredients for dinner.

“You know I can’t cook,” Peter says, peeking into a random grocery bag as Johnny unlocks the door.

“I told you I’d teach you before you went home, and that’s what I’m about to do.” Johnny twists the knob and lets them into the apartment.

The space itself offers a small living and dining area that connects to the peninsula kitchen, a bathroom in the hall, two bedrooms across from each other, and a balcony overlooking the tight community. When it comes to everything else, the furniture is plain yet practical, family photos are on the wall to make up for not being allowed to paint, and an artificial rose smell permeates from an air freshener plugged into the wall. 

All in all, it’s cute and just what Peter thought Johnny’s apartment would be like. Despite the two bedrooms, he can’t picture more than one person and maybe a pet living in such a concise area.

“Welcome to Casa de Storm,” Johnny announces as he shuts and locks the door behind them. Peter takes his new surroundings in with curiosity and wonder as if the tiny apartment were Disneyland.

“Wow,” he says, looking around as he follows Johnny to the kitchen. “This is kinda cool, having your own place.”

“It’s no lake house, but it’s home.”

“I like it,” he tells him in all honesty, setting the plastic bags on a kitchen counter. “You don’t get lonely when Sue’s gone?”

“I do sometimes, but majority of the time, she’s at her boyfriend’s place, so it’s not as if she’s far,” he explains and points to Peter’s feet. “Shoes off.”

Peter and Johnny leave their shoes at the front door and wash their hands. They picked up ingredients to spaghetti and meatballs, which Johnny claims is the simplest thing he can teach Peter to cook without completely ruining dinner.

“And if you fuck up on the actual spaghetti, we can just eat the garlic bread,” Johnny encourages with fake optimism, making Peter’s eyes roll.

 “Just tell me what to do.”

“Get the ground beef and a bowl from the cabinet,” he instructs as he retrieves a pot from one of the cupboards, rinses it out in the sink, and fills it with water. “You’re gonna make the meatballs.”

“You trust me to handle the meat?”

“Not really, but there’s only so much that can go wrong if I’m in the same kitchen,” he says, placing the pot of water on a stove burner at medium heat.

“I’m feeling the love here,” Peter mumbles, doing as he’s told and getting the packet of ground beef they just bought and a huge bowl from a cabinet. “Now what?”

Johnny’s spaghetti and meatballs recipe is very specific and involves a lot of technique that Peter does not catch onto. It’s supposed to be a lesson, but the majority of the time that should be spent teaching is spent fixing Peter’s minor mess-ups, which turn into an entirely differently lesson afterward. When Peter adds too much salt to the spice mix, Johnny skillfully adds more meat and noodles to compensate. When Peter forgets to stir the noodles and lower the heat, effectively burning the bottom of the pot, Johnny soaks the pan with soap, ammonia, and hot water.

Johnny, although patient, is very cute when he’s particular.

The only thing Peter doesn’t mess up is watching the garlic bread cook in the conventional oven, and even then it’s a close call.

When everything is done cooking, Peter makes their plates at the counter while Johnny stands in front of the refrigerator, searching for something to drink.

“We got apple juice, water, these V8’s I told Sue to throw out, and, um, almond milk.”

“He need some milk!” Peter yells aloud, serving two large meatballs from the pot onto a plate. “Water is fine.”

“Apple juice for me then,” Johnny mutters, grabbing a bottle of water, the jug of apple juice, and Parmesan cheese. “Sprinkle me a little, babe,” he says, handing the container to Peter and then pouring their drinks.

The outcome is delicious and they eat on the loveseat in the living room. Johnny doesn’t have cable, so they watch comedy specials on Netflix until they get down to the last of the spaghetti in the pot and put it on Johnny’s plate.

“This is very _Lady and The Tramp_ of us,” Johnny says as they pick off the same plate. Peter swallows the meatball in his mouth and gives his lover a side eye.

“Who’s who?”

Johnny stops the fork on the way to his mouth to stare incredulously at Peter. “Are you joking?”

“Am I Lady ‘cus I’m kinda girly?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Girly isn’t the word I’d use,” he says, taking his bite then twirling his fork around more noodles. “You’re just a softie, that’s all.”

“You’re soft, too.” 

“Soft _where_?”

“Oh, c’mon, Johnny.” Peter places his head on Johnny’s shoulder and loops his arms around his neck. “You put up this tough ‘too cool to care’ bad boy act when in reality, you collect Pokémon cards and cried during _Toy Story 3_.”

“You’d have to be a robot to _not_ cry at _Toy Story 3_ , babe!”

“My point is, you’re so much softer than you give yourself credit for.”

Johnny sighs. “Not everyone would think so.”

“Well, not everyone knows you like I do,” Peter tells him, pressing his lips to Johnny’s temple. “You don’t give them the chance to, but still.”

“I could say the same about you.”

Peter’s eyebrow quirks up. “Hmm?”

“Everyone thinks you’re some dainty, goody-two-shoes, son of Tony Stark boy wonder when really you’re the most stubborn, hot mess of a smart ass I’ve ever met in my life. Like, thank goodness you’re cute or else you’d be hopeless.”

His assessment isn’t incorrect, but Peter can tell Johnny is teasing and tickles the man’s neck for his troubles. Johnny swats him off with a giggle.

“You wanna know what my favorite part of _Lady and The Tramp_ is?” Johnny asks, lifting a noodle to his lip and offering the unoccupied end to Peter.  

Peter catches on immediately, chuckling  at the ridiculousness of it, but taking the pasta in his mouth anyway because he’s not going to pass up a chance to kiss Johnny.

They start chewing towards each other’s mouths, never breaking eye contact and laughing as they do. Peter scoots forward into Johnny’s lap, hitching a leg over the other side of his waist. 

Not before long, the pasta is gone and their lips are connected, massaging and playing across and a top one another without a care in the world. Peter continues to chuckle into Johnny’s mouth and the man joins in until they separate, toppled over with laughter.

“You are so corny!” Peter exclaims, latching his hands around Johnny’s neck. “Ugh, how didn’t I see that coming? Better yet, why didn’t I think of it first?” 

“You’re just not as smooth as me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It’s okay, though.” Johnny shrugs, placing his hands on Peter’s hip. “This kinda swag can’t be taught, but you’ll learn anyway.”

“Uh, this isn’t twenty-thirteen and nobody says swag anymore,” Peter groans. “Like, not even Justin Bieber says that anymore.” 

“Is he even still alive?”

“I think so.” Peter shrugs and leans in again, lips puckered.

Johnny complies, bringing Peter’s face to his with his hand cupped on Peter’s cheek. The kisses are sweet and slow, just how Peter likes and it doesn’t take much for a soft moan to emit from his lips.

“I’ve missed that sound,” Johnny whispers between them, making Peter’s face heat up.

Each kiss bleeds fluidly into the next, growing more and more intense as the seconds pass. What started out as a languid slide of the lips is now a frenzy of tongue and Peter touching Johnny wherever his hands can reach while Johnny squeezes his hips. Johnny lets out a few moans of his own whenever Peter grinds on his lap, which only encourages Peter to do it more.

He has missed this _so much._

“Just like old times,” Johnny snickers when he pulls away, grinning up at Peter as the boy rocks his hips back and forth over Johnny’s crotch.

The move is familiar and safe for Peter, but the slight flush that goes through him when he feels himself and Johnny get hard is something that he’ll never get used to.  

Peter nibbles at Johnny’s earlobe before whispering, “I wanna try something new.”

Johnny’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Oh, really?”

Peter eases Johnny’s shoulders back until he's relaxed against the back of the couch. “Lay back.” 

“What are you doing?”

Peter stands from his spot off of Johnny’s lap to kneel before him between the coffee table and the couch. Johnny watches with hooded eyes Peter reach for his belt, unbuckle it, slide it out of the loops, and toss it on the cushion.

“Lift your hips,” Peter instructs with his fingers hooked into the jean’s belt loop. Johnny does as told and lets Peter shimmy his pants down until they drop around his ankles and the tent poking from in Johnny’s briefs makes itself known.

“You wanna do this?” Johnny asks.

Peter bites his bottom lip, kneeling upward to make eye contact with Johnny while he slips his underwear down with his jeans.

“I do.”

With that, Peter licks his palm and takes Johnny in hand. Johnny’s eyes droop with lust down to Peter stroking him. “Fuck,” he gasps, looking back at the boy’s face just to see that he’s already watching.

As inexperienced as Peter is, he does what feels right while keeping a watchful eye on Johnny to assure he feels good. When he’d initially thought about doing this to Johnny, he’d been a nervous wreck, but being apart for as long as they were along with the fact that Peter is leaving soon plays a large role in Peter throwing caution to the wind.

Despite the fact that Johnny is bigger than Peter, stroking him is barely any different from when he does it to himself. Granted, he imagines Johnny whenever he does, so this whole experience is sensational for Peter.

Johnny’s grunts are low, breathy, and it’s easily the most precious things Peter has ever heard. Every now and then, a soft spoken “babe” will slip past his lips, his eyes will shut tight, and he’ll exhale heavily.

The man is especially beautiful when he lets his guard down.

Witnessing Johnny in such a state of bliss is so much of a turn on that Peter sneaks his other hand in the front of his pants to perform the same action on himself. The moan that escapes him is gentle and muffled under the press of Johnny’s lips to his.

“Feels so good,” Johnny mutters brokenly when they pull away. “Spit on it.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Peter gathers the saliva building in his mouth to drool on Johnny’s dick, making the glide even easier. Johnny’s exhales escalate to moans of encouragement, one hand grips tight around the arm of the couch and the other has Peter by the collarbone. His eyes shut tight, crinkling at their edges. Peter is drunk enough from the feeling that he wants to shut his eyes too, but he doesn’t want to miss the moment Johnny’s orgasm hits. 

“Fuck,” Johnny pants, squeezing lightly around Peter’s neck. “ _Babe…_ ”

Peter extracts his other hand from his pants to execute dual action on Johnny, and the response is instant.

“Fuck,” he says again, louder and more punctuated this time. Peter can tell he’s close and all he needs is the extra push to get him there.

In between strokes, Peter bends forward to gingerly suck at the head of Johnny’s penis. Caught completely off guard, Johnny’s eyes fly open and if Peter weren’t so turned on, he’d laugh at how outrageous the reaction is.

Sure enough, Peter using his mouth helps because not even a second later, Johnny ceases up and emits a guttural sound that shakes his chest. Warm semen shoots directly into Peter’s mouth, and although it surprises him, he blocks his throat with his tongue so not to swallow and only pulls off when Johnny is done.

Panic briefly sets in when Peter doesn’t immediately find a spot to spit. Frantic yet determined not to swallow, he kneels there with wide eyes, puffed cheeks, and flailing hands until it occurs to Johnny that he ejaculated in the boy’s mouth without warning.

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling his underwear and pants back up before getting a paper towel from the kitchen. “Here.” 

Peter takes the paper towel, spits the creamy mess into the fabric, and gulps down the rest of his water.

“Sorry,” Johnny says bashfully, rubbing his neck as he sits back down. “I meant to say something.”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Did I completely ruin everything?”

Judging by how proud Peter is of what he’d just done, he can’t say he’s upset by this outcome.

“No,” Peter tells him, only half hard in his pants now. “That was fun.”

Unconvinced, Johnny glares off to the side. “As far as first times go? Not bad.” 

“I’ll do better next time.” 

“There’s a next time?”

Peter realizes what he’d said a minute later and nods in agreement with himself. “I mean, next time could be tonight if we’re being real,” he says, wiping his mouth with the dry side of the paper towel.

Johnny, taken aback, clutches his imaginary pearls and gasps dramatically. “That’s bold of you, babe!”

“Bold is my middle name.”

“Okay, Mr. Bold, help your baby daddy do these dishes then.”

First, Peter and Johnny wash and dry each dish by hand then scrub down the rest of the kitchen. For dessert, they share a bowl of vanilla ice cream with crushed Oreos on top while cuddling on the couch and watching movies.

After finishing the last movie, Peter checks his phone to see that it’s eleven and his curfew is quickly approaching. Johnny catches the frown on his face and nudges him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Curfew in an hour. We should get going now if we’re gonna make it in time.”

Johnny nods in understanding, making a face as well. “Oh, okay,” he says, pulling the blanket covering them away to stand and with him goes his warmth.

Peter frowns even more.

He really _doesn’t_ want to go home. After the time they’ve had and fresh from making up, the last place he wants to be is away from Johnny.

As if Johnny had read his mind, the man stops in his tracks on the way to the door and swiftly turns to face Peter. “Do you wanna spend the night?”

 Peter’s ears perk up. “Like, here?”

 Johnny hands fly up saying _where else?_

 “Yeah, I do. Of course, I do.”

 “A’ight, then.” A toothy grin widens over Johnny’s face as he points to the hallway. “I’ll go get you something to change into.”

 The second Johnny disappears down the hall, Peter opens the messenger to text his Dad.

  _Hey, don’t know if you’re asleep yet but I’m spending the night at Michelle’s. I’ll be home tomorrow morning._

 “This should fit you,” Johnny says when he arrives back in the living room, tossing a plain white long sleeve and a pair of basketball shorts. “They’re from when I was, like, five so I think you’ll be good.”

 “Fuck off.”

 After Peter changes into the hand-me-downs, his phone vibrates with a message from Steve.

  _Okay! Call me when you’re up._  

Comfortable in knowing they have practically the whole night for just the two of them, Peter snuggles into Johnny without a care in the world. Even though they enjoy just being in each other's presence, they get up to more than just cuddling and watching movies in the early hours of the morning.

 Peter goes to sleep in Johnny’s bed a very happy, satisfied boy.

  
  
  


The following morning, Peter awakes with Johnny’s arm wrapped around his waist and snoring in his ears. The covers are strewn wildly at the foot of the bed, they’re both half-naked, and even though their night is technically over, Peter is content that it happened anyway. Johnny’s aroma overtakes Peter’s senses, and if it were possible, he’d stay in this position _forever and ever and ever and—_

 The insistent chirp and vibrating of Peter’s phone on Johnny’s nightstand interrupts his train of thought. Groaning at going back to reality, Peter reaches over, careful not to wake Johnny and brings the device to his face. 

And then, his stomach quite literally drops to his ass.

 Peter checks his messages and his world crumples at the onslaught of angry, frantic, and confused text messages from Steve, Bucky, and Michelle asking _where_ he is.

He sits up, jostling Johnny, but he can’t focus on him complaining about being woken up. Right now, all Peter knows is that he is a dead man as he continues to scroll at the hundreds of messages starting at nine that morning till now at _one_ in the afternoon.

 

 _3 Missed Calls From_ **_Michelle_**

  _“_ Shit.”

  _9 Missed Calls From_ **_Bucky_ **

 “ _Shit_.”

  _17 Missed Calls From_ **_Dad_**  

“ _Fuck._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP PETER... He not dead, but he bout to be.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say that I appreciate that we all collectively agreed that either Peter is A) going to get his ass beat or B) going to die. Also I’m gonna apologize in advance for the tom foolery you’re about to read.
> 
> By the way, I love HalcyonSeasons!

“He’s going to kill me.” 

“He’s  _ not _ going to kill you.” 

“Okay, fine,” Peter sighs resignedly, staring down at the black screen of his now dead phone. “ _ Bucky _ is going to kill me for him.” 

Johnny narrows his eyes over at Peter and then looks back at the road ahead. “That’s a bit extreme,” he assures him, braking at a red light. “Why didn’t you just tell them the truth? Steve would’ve just thought we were two friends having a sleepover.” 

“I don’t know! I really don’t know,” Peter wails even though he knows exactly why: he doesn’t want to have to explain anything to Steve. “I’m pretty sure Bucky already suspects we’re a thing and I don’t need a lecture from my Dad about any of this.” 

“What, you ain’t tell ‘em you like black boys?” Johnny deadpans and Peter rolls his eyes. 

“I’m so not in a joking mood,” he mumbles, sinking lower in the passenger seat. “But, like, I haven’t told him I like  _ any _ boys.”

Johnny quirks an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know you’re—” He pauses to let Peter answer, but all he has to offer is a one shoulder shrug and a look out the window at the rapidly passing scenery saying,  _ I don’t even know for myself.  _

“I don’t know what I am,” Peter tells him after a quick bout of silence. “I just know I like other boys.” 

“And you’re too afraid to tell your  _ bisexual  _ father that  _ you _ might be  _ gay _ and you’ve been doing  _ gay _ shit with another  _ gay _ boy all summer,” Johnny says and when Peter hears it aloud, he feels that much stupider. 

“I’m a little dumb,” he concludes. 

“Just a little,” Johnny says, pinching his finger and thumb an inch apart. “Why didn’t you have Michelle cover for you?” 

Peter shakes his head. “I didn’t think about it,” he admits. “I just thought I could get up early enough to call or make it home before he got up or something.” 

“Oh, you really are a goody-two-shoes, aren’t you?” Johnny teases, glancing over at him briefly, genuinely shocked. “You’ve never done this before have you?” 

Peter grimaces. “Is it that obvious?” 

“This is basic street smarts, babe,” Johnny continues. “Every time you get up to some sneaky shit you gotta set alarms, call your friend to get your alibi, make it home before your parents do. It’s a whole science to this.” 

“I’m just surprised my Dad or Bucky didn’t call you.” 

“Maybe they didn’t think I’d know where you were.”

Peter nods. “Bucky probably knows,” he guesses resignedly. “Actually  _ I know he knows _ .” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Bucky knows  _ everything _ .” 

They ride in silence for five minutes, leaving Peter to really think about  _ how  _ he messed up. Johnny had a point in just telling Steve he’d be at his apartment and whatever interrogation that followed would be light work compared to what he’s about to walk into. 

Johnny pulls over about thirty feet away from the driveway when they finally reach the house. Peter looks over at him in confusion, and Johnny gestures to the house with a lazy wave. 

“Another part of the science is dropping you off far enough from the house so in case they’re peeping through the windows they can’t see who dropped you off,” Johnny explains with an unreadable expression. He’s definitely nervous but he covers it with his usual carefree facade which makes for a funny look Peter's way. 

“If they kill me, just promise me you’ll let everybody know I died a noble death?” Peter tries to joke, but it doesn’t land the right way. Johnny chuckles regardless. 

“I promise.”

Peter undoes his seatbelt with a heavy exhale and pushes on the door handle. “Here goes nothing, I guess.” 

Before Peter can open his door, Johnny cups him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a deep and sensual kiss that says everything his words can’t. It’s slow and gentle but urgent all at the same time. Johnny squeezes the flesh beneath his hand, pushing their mouths closer as if it were even possible. 

While the soft moan that comes out of Johnny is hot, Peter has to pull away and tug his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You’re gonna get me all hot and bothered before I walk into my death?” Peter chuckles halfheartedly. 

“Gotta give you something to remember me by in case they lock you in a tower or something,” Johnny jokes, zeroing in on Peter’s lips and then his wide, brown eyes. “Call me, okay?” 

“Okay.” Peter nods and pecks the other boy once more before opening the car door and climbing out. 

The walk to the house isn’t long, but it feels like a mile with all that’s going through Peter’s mind. His heart is in his ears while his stomach is in his ass, and if he had the fortitude, he’d run back to Johnny’s car and demand they drive until the gas runs out. Every few feet, he turns back to check if Johnny is still there and a wave of calm rushes over him when he sees that he is. 

As he approaches the front door, Peter begins to pat down his jeans and groans at his own stupidity when he realizes he doesn’t have his key. He takes one last look behind him to see that Johnny is reversing slowly before lifting his fist to knock. 

The door swings open a few short seconds later, revealing Bucky in his usual all black attire, hair in a bun, and a frantic look in his eyes. At the sight of Peter, he pauses, taking the boy in carefully before dropping his guard and clutching his chest. 

“Oh, thank God,” he exhales, grabbing Peter by the shoulders and forcing him into a tight hug. 

Peter goes into the embrace without struggle and the severity of the situation comes heavily crashing down on him like bricks. He’s  _ never _ seen Bucky hug someone with his hand cradling their head and squeezing their shoulders this way, yet here he is doing it to Peter. 

“Jesus, fuck, are you okay?” he asks breathlessly upon letting Peter go, hands braced in his shoulders, eyes darting across Peter’s body inspecting him for injury or signs of harm. “Huh? _ Are you okay _ ?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, Bucky,” Peter whispers, sounding small just as he had when he was a kid. “I’m okay.” 

Bucky doesn’t appear convinced, but he nods anyway. “Okay,” he says, staring Peter down with a hint of worry lingering in his eyes. “Okay, whatever you say, kid. Let’s go see Dad.” 

Peter gulps.  _ Fuck _ . 

Bucky places a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder and leads them into the living room where Steve has his back turned to them, his head hung with his cell phone pressed to his ear as he rambles into the receiver. 

“He’s five-eight and a half, five-nine,” he’s going on, voice broken and croaking as if he’s been crying. “He’s seventeen. He’s got short, wavy, brown hair. Brown eyes. A lean build with slight muscle but still a little skinny—goddamn, I don’t even remember what he was wearing last night—”

“Honey,” Bucky calls to him as he crosses the room to direct Steve’s attention. Steve lifts his head up to Bucky and then around when his boyfriend gestures to the living room entrance. 

Getting away with murder would feel better than receiving the look Steve gives Peter before dropping his phone and rushing at the speed of light across the room to engulf his son. The force of the hug lifts Peter right off his feet. Seeing this full grown man break down with his head tucked in Peter’s neck isn’t something someone sees everyday. 

“Oh, my god, are you okay?” he asks in the same distressed way Bucky had, examining his appearance as well as cupping his face to assure that the boy is really there. The white of his eyes are pink from stress behind his glasses and his hair is unkempt and out of place. Peter has  _ never _ seen him  _ so undone.  _

“Peter, what happened to you? Are you alright? I called you at least ten times! W-w-we thought something happened to you! Are you okay? I’m—”

Peter holds his elbow, head down as he shakes it. “Dad,” he says over Steve’s insistent questions. “Dad, I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

Steve abruptly stops talking to eye Peter dubiously. “Excuse me?” 

Peter looks up and gulps. “I’m fine,” he repeats, more to convince himself than Steve. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not okay, Peter,” he protests, waving his hands about to indicate as such. “It’s  _ very _ not okay. You know that, right?” 

Peter can’t tell if the question is rhetorical or not, so he just stays silent which earns him a pair of impatient looks from both men.

“I know,” he mutters. 

Steve shakes his head and begins to pace around the living room like a fidgety animal. “First off, you said you’d call this morning and you didn’t.” 

“My phone died before I could,” Peter tells him, embarrassed. 

Steve nods and he has to physically resist rolling his eyes. “I always tell you to bring your charger when you go out, Pete! Pop and I didn’t get you that portable charger for nothing,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And you left your wallet here, too. What if something would’ve happened to you? How do you think the police or someone would have identified you?” 

“I wasn’t in any danger, Dad,” Peter insists, but Steve clearly doesn’t care. “I was fine, I swear.” 

“Yeah, but we didn’t know that,” Bucky says, arms crossed over his chest. “We were thinking the worst. We didn’t know if you’d ran away, been kidnapped, or fuck, maybe Rumlow got to you—” 

“Or dead in a ditch,” Steve interrupts sternly. “When we didn’t hear from you, I called Ms. Jones this morning and she said that you canceled plans with Michelle and didn’t hear anything about you sleeping over. What’s that about? You’re lying to me now?” 

He really should’ve thought this through because the sheer disappointment in Steve’s words cut like a knife to the heart. 

“I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal,” Peter says with a shrug. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Steve stops pacing to shoot incredulous daggers at him. “Peter, I’ve called every police station within the last fifty miles. There are people out there, worried sick  _ looking _ for  _ you _ . Pop and May are losing it, Sam took off work to search for you, Natasha and Clint are planning to take a flight down here, Peggy shut down the diner, and you’re gonna stand there and say you didn’t think it’d be a big deal for you to lie about your whereabouts and then not contact us to let us know you’re safe?” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. “I’m s-s-sorry.” 

“Sorry isn’t cutting it, Pete,” Steve continues. “You lied to me. That’s  _ not _ how I raised you. What is going on with you, kiddo?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Peter, c’mon, just be honest with me. May says she feels something is up, too, so it must be something.”

“Dad, it‘s nothing. I’m fine,” Peter repeats with his teeth gritted. “Everything is fine.” 

“Clearly, it isn’t. There’s something bothering you. What is it that so terrible that you have to hide it from me?” 

“It’s  _ nothing _ ."

Bucky’s face twists up uneasily as he watches the two of them. 

“Are you sure about that?” Steve challenges, removing his glasses to rub the side of his head. “You nearly give your family a heart attack over  _ nothing _ ?” 

Peter groans below his breath. “Dad, I’m home now, okay? So we can just let it go. I was fine where I was.” 

“And where was that?” 

Peter gulps down his irritation. “Nowhere.” 

Steve puts his glasses back on and exhales heavily, just as agitated as Peter is. “I’m not just letting anything go. As your parent, I have a right to be concerned.” 

“You don’t have to be,” Peter refuses, guilt switching to agitation. “You don’t have to worry about me all the time. I can take care of myself.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Steve repeats, eyes gone wide in disbelief. “You can take care of yourself and you think I shouldn’t have been worried that my seventeen-year-old child went missing. I have heard it all today.” 

“I’m  _ not _ a child,” Peter snaps, crossing his arms. “I wish you would stop treating me like one.” 

“It seems I have to if you’re going to lie, keep secrets, forget to charge your phone, and not take your wallet or keys with you when you leave,” Steve retorts. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, Peter. I just want you to be open and honest with me about whatever is going on with you.” 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Peter says for the umpteenth time, patience wearing thin and his defenses rising. “I was just  _ out _ , okay? I wasn’t doing anything bad.” 

Bucky flashes him a desperate look that goes ignored; he  _ definitely _ knows where Peter was. 

“How do I know you’re not lying to me right now?” Steve places his hands on his waist, hip jutted out. “You could’ve been doing God knows what, breaking maybe a million laws—”

Peter’s skin gets irrationally hot with anger. “I wasn’t doing anything!” he nearly exclaims. “I’m home and it’s fine now. Can we just drop this?” 

“Peter,” Steve sighs tiredly. “It’s  _ not _ fine. Do you not get that?” 

“I said I was sorry!” 

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Steve’s voice raises just enough for Bucky to interject with a hand between them. 

“Okay, guys, calm down,” he utters but neither of them are listening. Peter is mad now, and he can’t stop himself long enough to ask why. 

“I don’t know what else you want me to do,” Peter grunts, taking a step back as he glares up at Steve. “I’m sorry I lied, okay? Just leave me alone about it.” 

“It’s not even just the lying, Peter. It’s the fact that you’re so nonchalant about the whole thing as if I don’t have the right to freak out,” Steve says. “I worry about you and have to make sure you’re okay at all times even if I do come off as an overprotective asshole about it.” 

“ _ I was fine _ .” 

Steve’s hand fly up and plop down at his sides defeatedly while Bucky groans in annoyance. The boy just isn’t _getting_ _it_. 

“You know what? Fine,” Steve announces with finality, hands back on his hips. “Since I can't seem to give you some perspective, you’re grounded. You’re not to leave this house for anything except for work for the rest of our time here.” 

The first thing that comes to mind is Johnny. Peter spent the last eighteen days without seeing him and he’ll be damned if he has to go another because Steve said so. Peter’s skin pales ghost white at the thought before it reddens in the same instant his anger topples over. 

“You can’t ground me because I don’t tell you every little detail about my life!” he yells, hands shaking with rage. “I’m  _ seventeen _ ! I don’t have to tell you  _ anything _ .” 

Bucky makes to calm him down, but Steve is quicker with responding. 

“It doesn’t matter how old you are,” he replies tensely, doing his best to control how loud his voice gets. “You  _ don’t _ have to tell me every little detail, but you certainly  _ can’t _ lie to me.” 

Peter’s sanity grasps at empty air for leverage to fight back. He can’t let it end this way. He can’t let Johnny be taken from him  _ again _ . 

“This isn’t fair! I told one little lie and you’re acting like it’s the end of the world!” he whines, emotions welling up beyond his control. “You can’t just ground me.”

“I said what I said,” Steve says dismissively. “End of discussion. Go to your room.” 

“No!” 

“Peter,” Bucky warns, but Peter isn’t having it. 

“No, I’m not going to my room. You can’t fucking ground me!” 

Steve puts a hand up at his son. “Watch your damn mouth and go to your room,” he instructs, pointing upwards. “My decision is final.”

Peter’s world pretty much crumbles to pieces around him when he sees that Steve is unrelenting and Bucky is on his side.  _ This can’t be happening. _

Peter stomps towards the stairs, grumbling something or another under his breath.  _ This can’t be happening… he just got Johnny back... _

“You have something else you need to say, young man?” Steve calls after him and that’s Peter’s last straw. 

Refusing to be the only one hurt, Peter swirls on his heels and bitterly spits out with as much confidence as he can muster, “You're not even my  _ real _ dad. You’re just  _ some guy _ who married Tony Stark.”

The room stands still for a second as if those words split everything down the middle and into a black hole. Bucky gasps, narrowing his eyes at Peter with a disgusted grimace.

“Kid, what the fuck,” he growls, visually angry but Steve resignedly shakes his head with a halting hand over Bucky’s chest. 

“It’s alright, Buck.” 

But it’s not. 

Initially, Peter thought saying that would make him feel better about being grounded, but if this is what winning feels like, he doesn't ever want to feel it again. Steve swallows sharply and removes his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s thinking and it’s the most stressful half a minute of Peter’s very short life. If Steve didn’t kill him before, he’s going to now. 

Instead of responding with justified anger, Steve lifts his head with the softest smile either of them have ever seen. Steve doesn’t even smile at Bucky this way. 

“I suppose so,” he agrees quietly, unable to look directly at Peter so he settles for staring off at the wall behind him. “Go ahead and pack your suitcase, okay? You can go back to Queens.” 

At that, Peter's anger turns to panic.

Going back to Queens meant leaving  _ everyone _ . He isn’t ready to say goodbye to Michelle, Peggy, Shuri, Sam, Johnny, or even Gwen, yet Steve is telling him he has to leave.  _ He has to go. He has to go back to Queens... _

Without even thinking about it, he rushes over to Steve with his hands in prayer position and tears welling up in his eyes. 

“No, no, no, no, please, no,” he begs helplessly, vision blurring through his tears. “Dad, I-I-I’m sorry! Please don’t make me go back! Please, please, please—” 

“Peter,” Steve interrupts. “I think this is for the best.” 

“No, it’s not!” Peter disagrees, tears rushing down his red face. “It’s really not! It’s not for the best, okay, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean it! Just don’t make me go! I don’t wanna go.”

Like he’s a child again, Peter’s arms fly around Steve’s middle and he holds on for what feels like dear life. “ _ I don’t wanna go _ . Dad, please, don’t make me go.”

“My mind is made up, kiddo.” Steve’s voice cracks but he clears his throat. It’s unlike him to not hold Peter back, but it only makes Peter squeeze harder. 

“ _ I’m sorry _ .” 

Steve nods as if to agree. “Go to your room.” 

Peter reluctantly lets his arms fall from around Steve, watching his face closely to garner just how mad his Dad is. He doesn’t show any signs of anger, but he doesn’t appear particularly joyous either. Bucky has a similar expression, but it comes off more enraged than anything. 

Shame hangs Peter’s head low on his way to the stairs, up to his room, and against the door when he closes it.

Peter sinks to the floor as tears continue to gather in his eyes, blurring the room. This might be the last time he’ll ever see it, and there’s no likelihood of ever coming back to it if Steve believes what Peter said and disowns him. 

That means getting cut off from Sam, Peggy, Natasha, and Clint, but Peter won’t be able to take not getting calls from his godparents checking up on him or Peggy calling him “darling.”

What is Peter going to do without Steve? He can’t lose his Dad, especially when he and Tony are going their separate ways. Losing Steve also means losing Bucky, and Peter would rather die than go back to how things were with him. 

Peter cries against the door for a while with his head in his folded arms resting on his knees. The sobs are silent yet painful, but Peter can’t find a way to stop them even when he gets the energy to get up and shower last night off.

He fucked up. 

He  _ really _ fucked up. 

  
  
  


Numbness settles within him when Peter finally stops crying an hour later. The tears may have stopped, but his heart still pangs with guilt when his mind keeps replaying everything. 

_ You're not even my real dad. You’re just some guy who married Tony Stark. _

“You idiot,” Peter mutters to himself as he folds his clothes and packs them into his bag. “Stupid idiot. Always talking, but never listening, idiot.” 

Tony will be so disappointed, and there’s nothing he could do to salvage the relationship with either of his parents when Steve eventually tells him everything. He can already hear May cursing him out for this; she’s only ever spanked him once, but he is definitely in for getting his ass effectively beaten when he gets back to Queens. 

He should’ve just told the truth like Johnny said. 

Speaking of him, the man has been texting Peter for updates, and as badly as Peter wants to tell him that everything will be okay, it isn’t. He’s never going to see Johnny again and he didn’t even prepare a goodbye. 

How does one even say goodbye to what they have? How is someone supposed to apologize for saying what Peter said to Steve?

Just when Peter finishes emptying out the last dresser drawer, there’s a quick knock on the other side of his bedroom door. Peter’s shoulders tighten. He’s not ready to go, but Steve is already on the other side, ready to drop him off at the bus station. 

Tears bundle at the edges of his eyes, but he quickly wipes them before opening the door. Bucky stands with his arms crossed and a disapproving frown dragging his face down on the other side. Peter’s heart plummets; he’s back to hating Peter again and the tears rush to his eyes again. 

“I-I-I’m not finished packing y-yet,” he stutters but it really means  _ please give me more time to make this right.  _

Bucky’s eyebrow flies toward his hairline. “I’m not kicking anybody out, kid,” he says, arms now up in surrender. “We gotta have a talk.” 

“I don’t need a lecture, Bucky.” Peter backs away from the door to continue packing. “I already know I messed up.” 

“No, you don’t need a lecture,” Bucky agrees, entering the room and taking a seat at the bay window. “You  _ need _ your little privileged ass put in check, but I didn’t come up here for that.” 

Peter glares at him. “Then what did you come up here for?” 

“You hard of hearing? I said we gotta talk.” 

“Did Dad send you?” 

Bucky’s eyes go comically wide with a smirk to match. “Oh, so  _ now _ he’s ‘Dad’? He’s Dad when he cooks for you, gives you money, does your laundry, drives you around, and spoils you rotten, but he’s just some guy who married Tony Stark when you don’t get your way. He’s not your  _ real _ dad when he’s doing his job as a parent, I guess.” 

Peter turns his back on Bucky, pretending to gather clothes from the closet to hide the hurt on his face. “I get it, okay?” 

“Do you?” Bucky challenges, leaning forward and setting his elbows on his thighs. “Seriously, kid, do you? As much as my old man, God rest his soul, pissed me off, I would’ve never said some dumb shit like that. Are you even remotely aware how fucked up this all is?” 

“Yes, I do.” Peter sniffles. “I get it. I fu—messed up. I didn’t mean it.” 

“Then why’d you say it? Surely you don’t believe that shit, because if that’s your truth, I feel very sorry for you.” 

“I just wanted to hurt him ‘cus he hurt me.” 

Bucky’s gaze towards the boy softens, but he scoffs at the irony. “Jesus, you teenagers and lack of perspective,” he mumbles and moves over a spot on the bench. “Come sit, kid.” 

Peter drops the shirt in his hand to take a seat next to Bucky. The man exhales heavily and nudges Peter by his shoulder. 

“No one is trying to hurt you, okay, Peter?” he tells him earnestly. “You fucked up by lying and making us worry, but it’s not the end of everything.” 

“Does he hate me?” Peter asks wearily. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Hell no, he doesn’t hate you. You’re seventeen, but you gotta keep in mind he still thinks of you as that chubby baby boy he and Stark brought home from the hospital. He has a right to worry. We both do. All of us do, when you think about it. You’ve got a lot of people who love and care about you.” 

“I don’t wanna leave here. Not yet,” Peter whispers, helplessly unable to stop himself from collapsing under the intensity of the predicament he put himself in. “I don’t wanna go.” 

Bucky puts an arm around Peter when he crashes on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Hey, kid, it’s gonna be okay,” he says as he rubs Peter’s side. “Everything will be fine. Steve doesn’t hate you.” 

“I’m a bad son,” Peter wails, muffled into Bucky’s shirt. 

“No, you’re not. You’re just an extremely sheltered, spoiled brat who is bad at lying and needs to get his act together, but we got time to work on that.”

Peter chuckles between his cries, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hand. “I’m not a brat.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not an escaped convict,” he says with a wink and nudges him again. “You really don’t believe that, do you?”

Peter sits up straight and sniffles a few times. “Of course I don’t. He’s the best dad anybody could have.” 

Bucky nods. “He’ll be okay, kid. His dramatic ass just needs a minute to calm down and then we can all sit back down like one big happy family and talk about everything.” 

“I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You can start by apologizing properly for lying,” Bucky says, nodding his head to the side. “Then, if you’ve got the guts, you can apologize about that little comment.” 

“Yeah, I should. That was a terrible thing to say.” 

“Damn right, it was,” Bucky agrees. “I can’t deny having said some fucked up shit to my old man before, though. Granted, my ma slapped the taste clean out of my mouth for it, but Steve isn’t the type.” 

“What about you?” Peter wonders, positioning himself to face Bucky’s side. 

Bucky laughs a little. “Jeez, kid, I don’t know. We’re gonna have to cross that bridge when we get to it.” 

“I think you’ll be a great dad,” Peter says. 

Bucky shrugs. “Just as long as I don’t kill the thing—” 

“Peter! Buck!” a distressed Steve calls from downstairs, breaking through the conversation and making Peter jumps. Instinctively, he grabs onto Bucky’s shoulder as though to silently beg not to let Steve take him.

“Hey, kid, it's gonna be alright,” Bucky assures him, standing and heading towards the door. Peter follows after him reluctantly, hiding himself a little when they reach downstairs and enter the living room. 

Steve is pacing again, but he appears far more distraught than before. His grip around his phone is merciless as he anxiously types out a message. 

Bucky notices first and his mouth twists into a concerned scowl. “Honey?” 

Steve peers up from his phone, meeting Peter’s eyes first. “Buddy, I need you to know everything is gonna be alright, okay?” he says, voice trembling doubtfully. Bucky crosses the room in a few strides and plucks Steve’s phone from his hand to read the messages. 

Peter eyes his father oddly, unsure of what to say. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Steve repeats to more himself than his son, running a hand through his hair. “Just listen to me. I need you to get ready to leave. We have to catch a flight—” 

Peter backs away, trying not to curl in on himself. “No, no, no, Dad, please, not yet. I-I-I’m sorry I lied, just please don’t—” 

“No, kid, he’s serious,” Bucky intervenes, scrolling the screen. “You guys gotta go.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” the teenager demands, bottom lip quivering. “Bucky, please, don’t let him—”

“Son, listen to me, alright?” Steve walks towards Peter and puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “There’s a situation going on with Pop back home and we need to be there for him right now, so I need you to be calm and come with me. Stark Industries is sending out a private jet in maybe half an hour, so we’ve gotta go.” 

At first, Peter is hesitant. Is this some kind of joke or ploy to get Peter back to Queens for good? Would Steve do something like that?

“Dad, what’s happening?” Peter asks, feeling so small and useless. “What’s going on? What happened to Pop? I-I-Is he okay?” 

“I’ll explain everything on the way, kiddo,” Steve mumbles half-heartedly, rushing upstairs to change his clothes. Peter stands there in the middle of the hallway, glancing around as if he’s looking for answers. 

When his eyes land on Bucky, all the man has to offer is a sad look cast downward at the carpet. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What’s wrong with Pop?” 

  
  
  


As it turns out, there is a lot wrong. 

On the speedy jet ride from Ithaca to Queens, Steve explains to Peter that Pop got into a car accident on the way to the airport from his office. The cause of the crash resulted from Tony going well above the speed limit on back roads, causing him to run into a tree and swerving into the woods. 

Although in critical condition, Tony is alive and being treated at St. John's Episcopal. 

Tony was on his way to Ithaca, but Steve chooses to leave that part out when Peter begins to cry into his hands and only stop until they land. 

  
  
  


Tony’s closest friend, James Rhodes—otherwise known as Uncle Rhodey—meets them at the emergency entrance when they arrive at the hospital. Upon seeing how distraught and out of it Peter is, Rhodey puts an arm around the boy as he leads them through the pristine hallways to Tony’s room. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Steve asks. 

Rhodey nods, bringing Peter close. “The doctor said he was very lucky.” 

“What’s the damage?” 

Rhodey thinks for a second, trying to remember. “Two broken ribs, multiple fractures in his left arm, a few cuts and scratches, and a big old concussion.” 

Steve sighs, relieved. “So, nothing dire?” 

“Well, unfortunately, he still has his ego, so maybe?” Rhodey teases with a small grin then looks to Peter. “You okay, Pete?” 

Peter shrugs. “When can we see him?” 

“I’ll go talk to the doctor and we’ll see if he’s ready for more visitors.” Rhodey taps his shoulder lovingly before walking off down the hallway.  

Steve heaves another huge sigh and runs his hand over his face and through his hair. “He’ll be okay. Tony’s always made it out of this kinda stuff,” he says aloud, but Peter doesn’t answer. 

They sit in the chairs in the hallway, waiting until Rhodey gets back. In that time, Peter curls into a ball in the chair, hiding himself from his surroundings as he reviews the last few hours. He feels like he could cry again, but he doesn’t want to anymore. After this morning and his Pop getting into the accident, he figures there’s not much else that could shake him. 

Before he knows it, Peter dozes off and awakes with his head on Steve’s shoulder a short time late. He looks around, notices his surroundings haven’t changed, and groans. 

“Why is it taking so long?” he fusses, repositioning himself in the chair. “Shouldn’t the spouse and child of the patient be allowed to see him, like, as soon as possible?” 

“I don’t know, buddy,” Steve answers, yawning. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Another fifteen minutes go by before Rhodey returns with a hopeful expression as he invites them to Tony’s room. “C’mon, he’s been asking to see you guys.” 

Peter is out of his seat and following Rhodey before Steve can take a breath. The teenager braces himself for a gruesome image of his father with tubes, wires, and needles sticking out of him, but is instead met with a very smug, minorly injured Tony clad in a blue gown in the hospital bed with Happy, his bodyguard, at high alert on the adjacent sofa. A huge smile graces both Tony and Peter’s faces when their eyes meet. 

“Well, if it isn’t my first and second love,” Tony jokes, wincing as he attempts to sit up without yanking out the IV. “Okay,  _ ouch _ . Hap, remind me to not get into another car accident.” 

“Duly noted, boss,” he deadpans then nods to Steve and Peter. “Mr. Rogers. Peter.” 

“Hey, Happy,” Peter says with a wave then turns to Tony, trying not to stare at the equipment that Pop is hooked up to. Tony’s face is cut, bruised, and slightly swollen just as Rhodey said, but he still looks like his regular self which is enough to calm Peter. 

“Pop, you okay?” he asks, hovering above Tony as he stands beside the hospital bed. 

Tony gives a pained yet nonchalant shrug. “I’ve been better. But, hey, the plus side is that I haven’t been this high on drugs since—” 

“ _ Tony _ .” Steve clears his throat. 

“Okay, fine,” Tony says pointedly with an eyeroll Steve’s way. “I haven’t been this happy in this hospital since you were born, Pete. Is that better,  _ Dad _ ?” 

Steve ignores him and pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna call Bucky,” he mumbles on his way out the door. 

“Tell Russia’s Most Wanted I said hello!” Tony yells after him then directs his glare to Peter. “Don’t think that just because I’m in this hospital bed, high as a kite with limited mobility that you’re off the hook for even one second.”

Peter gulps. “I know.” 

“You should! You had us all worried. What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t.” 

“Yeah, kid, we thought you were kidnapped by Bigfoot or whatever the hell there is up in Ithaca,” Happy adds. 

“There’s no Bigfoot,” Rhodey corrects him and nobody can tell if he’s joking or not. “Maybe Sasquatch.”

“Sasquatch and Bigfoot are the same thing, genius.” 

“Even still they wouldn’t be out there looking for little white boys in the woods—” 

Tony snaps his fingers to gain attention of the room. “Um, hello? Trying to discipline my kid here. Yeti and the Bigfoot bunch talk isn’t really helping.” 

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought about Yetis!” Happy exclaims, looking off in thought. 

“Yetis live in Alaska,” Rhodey reminds him. “They might survive an Ithaca winter, but not the summer.” 

“I leave for ten minutes and this is what you grown men sit around and talk about when your friend has been in a car accident?” a steely feminine voice cuts through the conversation sharply followed by the the furious tap of heels against the tile floor. 

Tony, Rhodey, and Happy freeze when the owner of the voice enters the room in the form of a tall, strawberry blonde, freckle-faced, blue eyed, and fierce-looking woman with a baby wrap woven to her torso. The wrap itself has what looks like the tiniest baby ever safely  secure inside, sleeping without a single care. 

Before anybody can say anything else, Steve reenters the room and halts in place at the sight of the woman. 

“Pepper,” he announces in awe. 

“Steve,” she replies with just as much surprise before her blue eyes flit to Peter. “Peter.”

Taken aback, Peter scrunches his face up. “Um,” he hums and looks down at Tony who looks like he wants to rip his IV out and run. Rhodey and Happy share a secret look.

“God, I’ve heard so much about you,” she says wistfully, voice lighter and less hostile when she speaks to the boy, and it makes him believe her. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

Peter takes a step back, giving her a cautious once over before focusing on the baby for a quick moment.  _ What is he supposed to say? Who is she? Why is she looking at him like he’s hung the moon? _

“Honey,” Tony says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes?” both Steve and the woman—Pepper—answer. Tony, Rhodey, and Happy shoot him a perplexed look. 

“Sorry,” Steve mutters, cheeks going pink. “Force of habit.” 

“What’s going on?” Peter asks the room at large. He really wants to directly ask the woman who she is, but given his mood, it wouldn’t come out pleasantly. 

No one says anything at first. Rhodey clears his throat and sits back in the sofa. Happy awkwardly whistles while staring at the ground like it’s the most interesting thing ever. Tony and Steve exchange glares while Peter scans the room looking for someone’s eyes to meet. The baby on Pepper’s chest makes a gurgling sound in their sleep. 

They all know something Peter doesn’t. 

After a moment of tense silence, Pepper eyes Tony and places her hands on her lithe hips. “You didn’t tell him, did you?” she says accusingly. 

“Tell me what?” Peter demands, but no one is looking his way. “What is happening?” 

“Um, buddy, maybe we should go to the—” Steve starts, taking Peter’s arm to pull him into the hallway but he jerks free. 

“Can someone  _ please _ tell me what is happening? What didn’t you tell me?” Peter asks Tony. 

Tony shuts his eyes, heaving a heavy sigh that holds all the regret he’s been keeping in. “Petey, this is Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, my fiancé and your future stepmother.” 

Pepper’s grin is small and forced given the situation, but friendly nonetheless. It’s only after Tony says that does Peter notice the gigantic diamond glinting off of Pepper’s left ring finger. Peter stares the woman down further as she makes her way across the room to stand on the other side of the bed. 

The pieces of the puzzle slowly click together in Peter’s head in an attempt to process what he’s been told. The timeline of everything doesn't add up in a way that concludes in Tony not having an affair, which he most certainly did. 

_ Fiancé. Stepmom.  _

Anybody with a computer and the curiosity can find out that Tony Stark has a kid, but Tony has  _ told _ her about him. She’s been wanting to  _ meet _ him and the good-natured way she’s looking at him from Tony’s bedside can tell that. Who only knows the stories and pictures Tony has shared with this woman when all along, Peter had no idea she even existed?

Peter’s chest is on its way to collapsing from heartbreak when he nods to the baby. “Who—?” he begins, voice catching in his throat before he can get the rest of the question out. 

Tony takes Pepper’s hand in his and kisses it. “This little guy is Charles Howard Stark,” he tells him, something distant in his voice when he speaks to Peter. “Harley for short. He’s your little brother.” 

_ Brother _ . 

_ Little brother.  _

“H-h-how little?” he stammers, even though he already knows the answer. 

Pepper, unable to read the situation, happily rubs and presses a kiss to the nearly bald baby’s head. “He’ll be two months in a few days.” 

That’s all Peter needs to confirm everything he’s been suspecting. 

The timeline aligns  _ perfectly _ , but Peter wishes there was some missing detail or stretch of time to rightfully explain everything in a way that says Tony didn’t cheat and have a baby behind Steve’s back. 

But would it really be behind Steve’s back if he knew? Judging by the way Rhodey and Happy are acting, they knew too, and there’s nothing stopping the theory that Peggy, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Bucky, and May also knew. 

The only one who didn’t know is Peter, and now that he does, he feels like the most oblivious idiot in the galaxy. He feels like he’d just been stabbed from all angles by every trusted adult he knows, with Tony’s knife being the sharpest. 

Tony has another son—a son that needs to be taken care of far more than Peter does. He was kicked out of his own home to be replaced with someone newer that won’t give Tony trouble like whining about going to parties or lying. 

If he didn’t want to come back to Queens before, he really doesn't now. He wants to be somewhere far enough from Tony, Pepper, and their baby that Peter won’t ever have to see them again. As much as Peter loves it, Ithaca might not be far enough anymore. 

Peter gulps down a lump in his throat, and for a second, he can’t breathe. Are the bubbling emotions threatening to spill over within him anger? Sadness? Grief? Devastation? Maybe a mix of all of them. 

Unable to take it any longer, Peter rushes out of the room, running as fast as his legs can carry him throughout the hospital, dodging people in a haste to get out of there. Steve’s voice calling his name is faint and urgent behind him, but he doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows he can’t be here. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HalcyonSeasons is the dick, I’m the vagina, and this chapter is the baby. Happy reading! 
> 
> Tumblr: karenthesuitlady

With labored breaths and a pained chest, Peter runs out of the hospital, across the parking lot, and down the sidewalk. He doesn’t have a specific destination in mind, but his body just listens to his brain telling him to run and keep running until it’s time to stop.

Eventually, his legs grow tired and he collapses on the first bench in sight, heaving in and out loudly as he tries to regain breath passed the tears threatening to leak from his eyes. Realistically, he only ran two blocks away from the hospital, but it feels like two miles.

Peter massages his aching sides with shaky fingers, ignoring the the looks of people passing by who spare him a glance. Somehow he can’t seem to care if he appears out of his mind. Maybe he is? How is he supposed to cope with anything that’s happened today?

Is _anybody_ able to?

He coughs breathlessly, not even bothering to cover his mouth. Fortunately, he doesn’t have asthma because if he did, he’d surely be dead.

Maybe then Tony will care.

Peter can’t decide if he hates Tony or not because “hate” is such a heavy word to use, but _this_ is a heavy situation. Peter hates Nazis and when people smack their lips when they chew, but would he compare his own father to such things? Does Tony even deserve that level of passion?

Peter feels like Tony cheated on him too. In a way, _he did._ He cheated him of a basic sense of security and trust as a father. Would he have even told Peter _anything_ if he hadn’t been in the accident? When would he have said something? Did he expect Peter to walk into his house and just be alright with a stranger who knows everything about him and her baby already living there? How long would the charade been kept up? Until the baby graduates college?

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunts out, sitting upward on the bench, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes in a weak attempt to stop his tears. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry—”

Willing the tears away doesn’t work because he begins crying again but not out of despair. Peter has furiously reached his limit of bullshit he’s going to take this summer.

“Hey,” a soft voice says as they slide onto the bench beside him, arm stretched open wide. Peter flinches away from the contact and calms down a smidget when he sees it’s Steve. Steve takes the hint and puts space between them, but positions himself close enough to show he’s open for physical contact should Peter want it.

“If biochemistry doesn’t work out, it’s not too late to start track and field.” Steve’s attempt at a joke falls flat, but he chuckles lightly anyway.

Peter leans on his knees, face in his hands. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asks with a sniffle.

Steve exhales, shaking his head in shame. “I—” he starts, pausing to think and then opening his mouth a second later. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Peter scoffs, standing to walk off. “Bullshit,” he mutters and only makes it a few feet from the bench before Steve stops him.

“I was embarrassed,” he admits loud enough for anybody passing to hear. “Alright, Pete? That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Peter turns to sit back in his spot.

“I was embarrassed,” he repeats, shrugging and clasping his hands together. “I was in denial about it all, and I thought by not telling you that it made none of it real. I just assumed that my level of hurt would be yours, so by sparing you, I was really sparing myself and that?” Steve wipes his mouth nervously and shakes his head down at the sidewalk. “That was selfish of me to do.”

Peter nods to show he’s listening and makes a confused face. “Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical that you’d lecture me about lying when you’ve been keeping this from me?” he asks, wiping his wet cheek. “I specifically asked if either of you cheated and you looked me dead in the face and told me that it was between the two of you.”

Steve nods, remembering. “Yeah, it definitely is hypocritical,” he agrees. “I know I hurt you by not telling you, but I didn’t think you could handle it. All you’ve ever known is the life Pop and I made for you, and something wouldn’t let me ruin that for you.”

“For yourself,” Peter adds, making a bittersweet wavering smile lurk over Steve’s lips.

“No one ever wants to face the fact that their husband is having an affair after eighteen years of marriage,” he says quietly, staring off at their surroundings in thought. “It’s makes it even worse when said husband lies about it for two years, has a baby with the vice president of his company, and pretends to be in love with his idiot of a husband for his son’s sake.”

Steve doesn’t say any of this with a malicious or bitter tone—it’s more as if he’s fondly reminiscing when the topic at hand is anything worth being fond over.

“When I first found out Pop was cheating, I cried for a whole week,” Steve confesses, jaw tightening. “It started out as suspicions and I thought it was just insecure paranoia, so I didn’t say anything at first. When I knew for sure and confronted him about it, he didn’t lie, but he promised we’d work through it. We did, but it didn’t stop, and when I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t going to ever stop, I thought my life was ending.

“I didn’t know what I was gonna do at first. Nothing felt right for a while. It was weird because he was the first and only person I’d ever dated, kissed, been in love with, _everything_. I thought we’d be together forever even on days I waited for him to ask me to leave.”

The whites of Steve’s eyes redden and pool with tears but he blinks past them. “I thought he was gonna take you with him when he left, so I beat him to the punch and asked for a divorce. I didn’t want you to know because I don't want you to hate Pop.”

“I don’t hate him,” Peter concludes, sniffling again. “I’m just, like—” He stops to rack his brain for the right word but nothing can properly describe what he feels for his Pop at the moment. “Like, I just thought it was a work thing and he didn’t want me around. He made it seem like you missed me and I couldn’t be alone. That whole night was just weird, but I guess that’s when the baby was born.”

It’s weird to talk about all of this when Peter has blocked most of it out by now. He figured everything would be okay and that Tony would stop being weird by the time Peter comes back, but this is an entirely new lifestyle adjustment.

That is if Peter is even allowed to go back to the Queens house. Aside from the multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, basement, and attic, something tells Peter there won’t be any room there for him once summer is over. If he had the option to go back anyway, he wouldn't.

If Peter knew that Tony divorcing Steve meant letting go of him as well, he would’ve fought for them to stay together as long as they could stand it so he wouldn't have to feel this way.

In a way, they already did. Michelle would think it’s selfish.

Peter sinks into his spot. “What’d I do? Like, seriously, Dad, what’d I do to him to make him not want me as his son anymore? Am I so unbearable that he had to go out and have a kid with a Barbie to feel better about raising such a brat? Why doesn’t he want me, huh? Like, why? Do I suck that much?”

“Peter, you don’t suck and your Pop didn’t do any of this to spite or hurt you,” Steve corrects him quickly. “He wanted to tell you, okay? He really did. He just didn’t know how or when, but that doesn’t change that he loves you very much.”

“Why are you defending him?” Peter asks incredulously, refusing to hear any of it.

“I’m not defending him. I’m telling you the truth. He knows he fucked up by doing what he’s done, but the fact is that it happened, and we’re going to deal with it like we always do.”

“Doesn’t feel like he loves me very much,” Peter grumbles, crossing his arms with a huff. “Did you see how he looked at them? They’re better off without us and I never wanna see any of them again, especially Pop.”

Steve recognizes that his son is saying these things out of anger, so instead of reprimanding him, he grins over at his son and puts a reassuring hand at the back of his neck. Nobody could have ever prepared him for moments like this, but all anybody can do is try.

“You probably don’t remember this, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Steve starts, squeezing Peter’s neck once. “Fourth of July 2004. It was my twenty-sixth birthday, you were turning three, and we went down to Grandpa Joe’s lake house for the week. We did our usual Independence Day-slash-dual-birthday thing, set off fireworks—” Steve stops to chuckle. “Grandma used to tell me the fireworks were for my birthday. Joe and a few of your uncles started shooting them off and I was worried you’d be scared of them since they were so loud, but no. You _loved_ them. You would giggle and do this funny little dance every time one of them would explode and it was the cutest thing ever.

“Then, in the middle of the show, you start getting antsy and I’m thinking _okay, now he’s tired of them,_ but you kept begging us to let you touch them. Your little arms were up, trying to touch the sky, getting all frustrated because you can’t reach, so Tony lifted you onto his shoulders,” Steve continues, looking at the side of Peter’s face with a faint smile at the memory. “Every child goes through a phase where they prefer one parent over the other and up until then, Pop was your favorite. Everywhere he went, you went. If he left, you’d cry until he came back. It was adorable as hell, but it made me so insecure. Every man dreams of having a son who looks like him, and after I worked through the fact that you wouldn’t look like me, there was this weird uncertainty that maybe I won’t be a good dad. It messed with me for so long.”

Peter drops his head. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head with an unbothered shrug, but his face shows clear discomfort. “You kept crying about still not being able to reach the fireworks, so he passed you over to me,” he recalls. “Then suddenly, you stopped. You were happy as ever, reaching up at the sky, telling me about how you caught fireworks and that you never wanted them to stop.”

The side of Peter’s mouth quirks up. It sounds like something current Peter would say, too.

“I don’t know what it was, but after that, you’d switched. You started following me around more, crying when I left, sneaking in on my side of the bed when you had a nightmare, all of it. Any chance you could, you’d wanna sit on top of my shoulders and I’d let you because whatever it was that you liked about it, it made us closer.” Steve makes a calculating face. “It sounds incredibly stupid, but when I’d put you on my shoulders, I felt needed. I finally felt like a father because you recognized me as such, and that’s one of the greatest moments I’d ever experienced as a parent. But right now, I feel like I’ve failed you.”

Peter shakes his head and sits up from his slump. “You didn’t fail me, Dad,” he tells him with a frown. “I only said what I said because I was angry and irrational. You’re a great father.”

Steve scoffs. “I should’ve told you the truth.”

“I was with Johnny,” he admits and moves in closer to Steve. “I spent the night at his apartment. I’m, well, uh, ya know. He’s my, um? Well, he’s my, uh, we’re, like, a thing.”

Much to Peter’s surprise, Steve doesn’t so much as blink at the confession. “I know.”

“You know?” he exclaims, eyes wide and frantic. “What do you mean? Like, you know, like—?”

“Like, I _know_. I’ve known for a while.”

“H-h-how? I didn’t say anything. Did Bucky tell you?”

“Bucky didn’t have to tell me anything because a father always knows,” Steve teases with a smirk and nudge to Peter’s elbow. “You may look like Tony, but you’re just like me. As oblivious and conspicuous as ever.”

“I wanted to say something I just didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want, like, a talk about dating and stuff.”

“Peter, you were raised well enough to have good judgment about who to date, and all I can offer is advice. It’s your life and whoever makes you happy is fine with me. Johnny is a great kid and I’m happy you found each other.”

“I was pretty sure you were going to freak out,” Peter says and Steve nods.

“I am on the inside. God, Pete, it feels like you were just born and you’re still my bouncing baby boy. My little boy who cried when he couldn’t reach the kitchen sink, finger painted on the sliding glass door, and needed a lullaby for nap time.”

For a moment, Steve gets choked up but he swallows past it as he puts his hand on Peter’s neck again. “But you’re not my little boy anymore.”

He’s not anybody’s little boy anymore, and he’s wanted Steve to see that for the longest time. Now that he does, Peter doesn’t know what to make of it. He never thought Steve coming to terms with him growing up would ever see the light of day, yet here it is, out for anyone to see.

“I may not be a little boy anymore, but I’m always gonna be your son, ya know?” Peter tells him. “Today, tomorrow, now, when I’m on your shoulders, when I’m not, and until forever.”

Steve nods in agreement. “That’s very mature of you to say,” he almost sounds surprised. “You’ve done a lot of growing up this summer.” 

“I guess I didn’t have a choice,” he mumbles and crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to stay here.”

Steve nods again. “I wasn’t gonna make you.”

“I don’t wanna talk to Pop, either.”

“No one is going to force you to.”

Content with that, Peter exhales a sigh of relief. “Can we go to May’s?”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna go back to the hosp—”

The deadly glare Peter shoots his Dad’s way aborts the question, making him chuckle and put his arms up in surrender. “Alright, fine. No Pop,” he says, standing from the bench and locking an arm around the teenager as they make their way back to the hospital. “While we’re here, you might as well see the new house.”

“But we can still go to May’s, right?”

Steve nods, squeezing his son closer to him. “Yeah, we can go see May.”

 

It’s a lose-lose situation for both of Peter’s parents when Steve goes back to the hospital to tell Tony that Peter doesn’t want to see him. Steve has to give the harsh news while Tony receives it, making for a very tense conversation. Peter thankfully doesn’t have to witness it as he waits in one of Happy’s security trucks in the hospital parking lot.

He takes the opportunity to call Johnny, explain everything that happened, and Johnny has to convince Peter that his life isn’t in absolute shambles. After getting off the phone with him, he shoots Michelle a quick text assuring that everything is fine on his end and that he’ll explain when he sees her. Ned gets a FaceTime call also retelling last night and today’s events to which the boy rightfully freaks out about Peter not mentioning Johnny sooner, what he’d said to Steve, and the mess that became of meeting Tony’s new family. After promising to go into further detail later, Peter hangs up when Steve exits the hospital with a disappointed look haunting his features.

“I take it went well,” Peter says when Steve gets in on the driver’s side.

“If you count getting into a screaming match while the doctor tries to check his vitals and Happy having to deter the staff from selling the footage to trash blogs, then yeah, it went exceptionally well,” he mutters sarcastically as he starts the engine and drives through the parking lot exit.

 

May swings open the screen door just when the SUV pulls into her driveway. The second Steve parks and kills the engine, May is out of the house and happily skipping towards Peter with her arms wide open and a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“My baby!” she exclaims, right on the tops of her toes when she throws her arms up and around Peter’s shoulders. “Oh, Peter, honey! Look how tan you are! You’ve grown a whole inch probably!”

Peter squeezes May tight, and it’s the most at peace he’s felt since this day started. “Hi, May,” he says wistfully into her hair.

She pulls back first and her smile shifts into a grimace. Before Peter can dodge it, her hand flies up, swats the back of his head with a swift _thump_ , and then lands on her hip. Steve covers up his amusement with a wince.

“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing his head. “What was that for?”

“I don’t ever wanna get another phone call from either of your parents talking about you going missing ever again,” she warns sternly, pointing up at him accusingly.

“How do you know I wasn’t, like, kidnapped?”

“Oh, Peter,” she exhales dramatically. “Your captors would bring you back. Also, I’m serious. If you pull that kinda thing ever again—”

“I think he gets it, May,” Steve interjects, stepping up to give her a hug. “How are you?”

“Missing child and baby daddy in a car accident aside, it’s been an okay kinda day,” she tells him, taking him and Peter by the hand to lead them into the house. “Just glad my boys are back.”

In true May fashion, she puts Steve and Peter to work in helping her clean the kitchen, organize her mail, and rearrange the living room furniture. They get fed for their efforts, and before any of them can catch it, the sun sets. Steve and May talk for a while in the living room about the new house and not before long, Steve is telling her they have to leave.

“Peter promised me a sleepover,” May informs Steve when she notices his crestfallen expression. “One night, just he and I.”

Steve looks between his son and May, amused at how much they look alike without trying. She bats her long eyelashes pleadingly, putting an arm around Peter’s in a stance that nonchalantly challenges Steve to take the boy away.

“I guess one night won’t hurt,” Steve agrees on his way to the front door. “Do you need anything from home?”

Peter shakes his head. “I should have some pajamas and stuff in my room,” he answers, pointing upward. “I’m good, Dad.”

“You’re sure?”

May and Peter simultaneously not with certainty. “Come by tomorrow morning, and I’ll have him good as new for you,” she promises, ushering him out the door.

“Alright,” Steve says. “Is ten okay?”

“Perfect!”

“Okay.” Steve turns to Peter. “I’ll be here at ten to get you. If you want, we can check out the house before we head back upstate.”

“Yeah, sounds good, Dad.” Peter waves to him through the screen door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

May walks Steve to the SUV and Peter rushes upstairs to change into a pair of sweatpants and a huge t-shirt. His room looks just as he left it from the last time he spent the night, save for the minor details May added like the navy blue curtains and mood lights hung in the corners. He switches them to the dimmest setting, lays on his back on the king sized mattress, relieved the day is on its way to being over.

May makes a silent entrance a few moments later with a medium gift bag in one hand and her bedazzled nail polish train case in the other.

“All settled? I figured you’d want a night away from your parents,” she says, plopping down on the bed in front of him. “It’s been a crazy day, huh?”

Peter wonders just how much Steve told her about today but nods anyway so not to raise suspicion. “Yeah, it has been.”

“Well, you know my house is a safe zone so if you wanna talk, we can,” she offers, smiling hopefully at him then glancing down to the gift bag. “This is for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, since I didn’t see you on your birthday and all.” She hands the bag over. “I hope you like it.”

“May, you didn't have to get me anything,” he says, but she shakes her head and begins taking the tissue paper out for him.

“Well, I didn’t technically _get_ it,” she explains.

Peter reaches inside and pulls out a single, unlabeled, black wood watch box. He looks up at her as she watches expectantly and then opens the box to reveal a vintage Rolex fashion watch. He’d only ever seen his parents collecting and wearing designer stuff like—it’s one of their more frivolous pastimes.

“May, I’m—this is, I can’t take this,” he stammers, shutting the box and putting it back in the gift bag. “That’s way too—”

“I didn’t have to spend any money on it, Peter.” May reaches inside the bag to pull the box back out. “It belonged to an old friend of mine, and I want you to have it. If you need some of the links removed to fit your wrist, we can, but I’d really appreciate if you kept it.”

Peter opens the box to inspect the watch. It’s stainless steel silver with a black face and metallic numbers, polished to perfection with a glint in each little jewel encrusted on the face.

“It’s gorgeous,” Peter comments but can help shaking his head. “But why’re you giving it me if it belongs to someone else?”

May quirks a sideways smile but her eyes stay focused on the watch. “Well, sweetie, that someone else has actually passed on,” she explains. “He was an old friend of mine who died a little bit before I got pregnant with you actually. Everyday you remind me so much of him, so I’m sure he’d be okay with you holding on to it.”

He doesn’t see himself ever wearing it, but the thought alone warms Peter’s heart. He nods wordlessly and reaches over to hug her.

“Thank you, May. I love it,” he says.

When they part, she reaches over for the train case. “So, I was thinking that since you’re here, we could have a little girl talk.”

Peter’s eyebrows scrunch together. “You’re not gonna grill me about today, are you? ‘Cus I already got it from Dad, Bucky, and Pop, and you’re supposed to be the cool and funky aunt who tells me I need to rebel against the system.”

May regards him with an unimpressed glare. “First of all, I am cool and funky and no, I’m not gonna get in your ass about that, even though I really should.”

“Then what do you wanna talk about?”

“C’mon, Pete, I haven’t seen you all summer. Tell me what’s been up.” She opens the case and presents the vast selection of polishes. “Pick a color.”

Peter tells her everything starting from when he first arrived to Ithaca, he and Bucky’s relationship, his birthday, his new friends, and everything in between all while filing and coating her toenails with a cherry red polish. She paints his in return navy blue as he tells her about Michelle.

“Gosh, and she’s hilarious,” he gushes. “A bit of a smartass, but it’s okay ‘cus she’s actually really smart. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got a little crush on the girl.”

Peter’s cheeks burn. “Oh, um, uh, well, ya know,” he stammers and gulps. “We’re not really like that. I mean, like, we kinda liked each other, but it was nothing. We’re just friends.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “You’d really like her though. She’s, like, yeah.”

“I’d love to meet her one day.” May fans Peter’s ties with a wave of her hand. “Do you have a picture of her?”

Peter pulls his phone from his pocket and opens his photo album to show her the candid he’d taken of Michelle when they’d been hanging at his house. She’s curled up on the living room couch wearing one of Peter’s sweatshirts, unaware of him taking the picture but looking gorgeous nonetheless.

“Oh, she’s very pretty,” May says, bringing Peter’s phone to her face. “Who’s this?”

“Who?”

May gives him back the device, pointing to a mirror picture he took of he and Johnny back when Johnny had spent the night. Johnny is behind Peter, arms encasing him around the waist while his head is buried in Peter’s neck. Peter stands there grinning as he captures the picture with the phone in one hand while the other is wrapped around Johnny’s fingers. It’s a cute picture that Peter considered posting to his Instagram, but ultimately decided not to.

Peter stares down at the picture, remembering that moment vividly. He glances up shyly at May who is looking back expectantly.

“I, uh, met someone,” he tells her quietly and focuses on his navy blue toenails. “His name is Johnny.”

“Mhmm,” May hums, exchanging the polish for a clear top. “Johnny, huh?”

“Yeah, uh, he works at Bucky’s hardware store.”

May nods, shaking the tiny bottle. “Johnny from Bucky’s hardware store,” she says slowly. “What’s his deal?”

With a blush and an unstoppable smile, Peter giggles, looking down at the comforter like it excites him. “Oh, he’s, um, uh, ya know, a friend.”

“I must be getting old because I didn’t know that taking pictures like that is considered a ‘friend’ thing nowadays,” she sing songs playfully and carefully coats his toenails. “Do you mind if I see a picture of his face to see if you have good taste in _friends_?”

A plethora of Johnny’s selfies and pictures of he and Peter take up the bulk of Peter’s photo album, so finding a picture isn’t hard. However, choosing the cutest one to impress May with might be, so he doesn’t stop scrolling until he finds one of them at a farmer’s market from a few weeks ago. Johnny is behind Peter again and they are smiling up at the camera as the sun shines down on them off-screen. Peter remembers that moment just as vividly.

May whistles when he shows her, making Peter’s cheeks burn all the more red.

“Well, he’s handsome.”

“ _May_.”

“What? All I’m saying is you have great taste in _friends_.”

“Don’t say friends like that.”

“Like what?”

He gives her a pointed look. “We really are just friends.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“You don't believe me?”

May switches to his other foot and even though she doesn’t look up at him, Peter can tell she’s rolling her eyes. “If that’s all you guys are then I won’t ask questions. Just seems a little too friendly is all.”

“I mean, like, we’re dating a little,” he confesses.

“A little,” May repeats. “Okay?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for about two months, but we’re not, like, serious.”

“Serious as in boyfriends.”

“I mean, I don’t know how serious we can be if I’m coming home soon. Seems kinda pointless to put a title on it if we can’t really be together, so,” Peter trails the sentence off with a shrug.

“People your age do the long distance thing all the time,” she says hopefully, but he shakes his head.

Peter considered bringing up a long distance relationship to Johnny, but decided against it when it dawned on him just how much he craves touch. Being as greedy for touch as he is wouldn't work with a long distance relationship—he’d go crazy not being able to hug and kiss Johnny even when Johnny is his to do so.

Also, he didn’t want Johnny to feel obligated to stay with him even when he’s not there.

“It’s just not our thing.”

“Then what is you guys’ thing?”

Peter’s heart skip. “Well, we play video games, go to the movies, hang out at home, karaoke, swimming, like, anything,” he tells her, thinking back on he and Johnny’s times together as he does. “He’s so funny, too.

I always laugh when I’m around him. He’s obsessed with cars and even though I have no idea what he’s talking about when he tells me about his car, it’s nice to hear how happy he is about it, ya know? He’s never seen any of the Star Wars movies, and I’ve been trying to get him to for, like, weeks now.”

Before Peter can stop himself, he’s going on about Johnny’s likes, (yellow Starbursts despite how unpopular they are, crime documentaries, and when guys get haircuts) his dislikes, (people who don’t tip and mumble rap), and everything else worth sharing. He tells her Johnny’s birthday is in October, making him a Libra and how Peter researched how compatible their star signs are. He tells her about the tattoo, his adoption and upbringing, how he takes online classes, his obsession with cars and how he built his own. By the end of his wistful rant, May knows everything there can be known about the other boy, and Peter would go on forever before she interrupts.

“Do you love him?”

Peter makes a shocked noise. “Huh?”

“I only ask because by the way you talk about him, you seem head over heels,” she tells him with a nonchalant shrug.

Speechless, Peter only then realizes how much he’d been talking and mentally curses himself. “Oh, um, uh. I don’t know?”

“You’re not gonna get in trouble if you say you do. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot, tiger.”

“It’s just that I never thought about it.”

Does he _love_ Johnny? Sure, the man makes Peter’s heart skip several beats and he risked ruining his relationship with Steve— _his own father_ —because the one with Johnny felt threatened, but does he _love_ him?

Yes, he sure does.

Obviously, he loves Johnny the same way he loves Michelle or Ned, but he knows just what May means.

Is he _in love_ with Johnny? Is two months even long enough to fall in love with someone?

“I really, really, _really_ like him, May,” he admits after a moment of thought. “Like, a lot. But I don’t really know what it is, ya know?

“Does he treat you good?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s nice to you?”

“Always.”

“And he likes you for you, right?”

“He does.”

May hunches her shoulders with an indifferent sideways glance saying _well, there ya go._ “Sounds to me it doesn’t matter what it is.”

“I just don’t wanna leave him. Like, ever.” Peter smiles sadly. “But I’ll have to.”

“Saying goodbye is gonna be hard, but it’s best to be happy it happened than sad that it’s over.”

“Ugh, that’s such a cliché.”

“Cliché, yes, but you’ll see my point when the time comes.”

The two of them talk for God only knows how much longer before May yawns and checks her watch. It’s past midnight, so she wishes him a goodnight and retires to her bedroom down the hall.

Peter admires his pedicure, reviewing their conversation as he does. The love question about Johnny is still rattling around in his head and just when he thinks he’s over it, his phone chimes with a text from the man himself.

 _Goodnite, babe. Pls call me tomorrow_.

Peter reads the message over and over; it’s simple and nearly meaningless, but it’s _everything_.

_I will…GN._

The twenty red heart emojis that follow that text might be borderline excessive, but something tells Peter that Johnny will appreciate them.

 

 

Despite saying goodnight to everyone, Peter can’t seem to drift. The day should’ve worn him out, but instead, he’s wide awake scrolling through social media, hoping to fall asleep soon. He tries listening to his podcasts and watching YouTube videos, but neither work.

His bedroom at May’s is outdated considering he doesn’t spend the night as often as he used to. This explains why the TV has a humpback, a dusty VCR attached to it, and a tape collection stashed away in the entertainment center. Just out of pure curiosity and boredom, he searches through the chunky black tapes, reading each title aloud and deciding whether he’s interested enough to watch.

“ _Peter Benjamin Stark,_ ” Peter reads the scribble written on the front of the tape. There’s no other indication of what the video could be about, but he’s intrigued nonetheless.

Peter blows dust off of the VCR, inserts the tape, and waits until the devices finishes whirring. The screen starts off staticky and black with an obnoxious buzz overlaying annoyingly happy music. The first image to pop up on the screen is a blurred shot of what Peter recognizes as May’s kitchen. Whoever is filming attempts to hold the camera steadily as well as focus the lens all the while swearing under their breath.

“ _Do you even know how to work that thing?_ ” someone says off-screen and even though the audio is terrible, Peter can tell it’s Tony.

“ _I’m not completely clueless on this tech stuff,_ ” the camera person insists, and it’s undoubtedly May.

“ _Jury is still out on that one_.”

Once the lens focuses, it’s aimed at a younger version of who Peter knows at his Pop. Nothing has changed aside from a few wrinkles and crow's feet, but he’s surely Pop with that intricate beard design, his smooth, shiny brown hair, and smug smirk.

“ _You sure you don’t want me to film this?_ ” Tony propositions, hand already stretched forward to take the camera. “ _I really wanna get his reaction when we tell him.”_

 _“I know how to work a camera_ ,” she protests but allows him to to take it anyway. “ _This is a shitty start to a pregnancy video diary._ ”

Early 2000s May has her eyebrows plucked thin, subtle blonde highlights in her layered brown hair, and shamelessly rocks a loose-fitting white crop top under a pair of baggy overalls. She’s aged in the same way Pop has, but there’s not much different from her then and now.

“ _Okay_ ,” Tony says, aiming the camera directly at her. “ _Just so everyone knows, can you please state your name and relationship to the Stark family._ ”

May looks directly into the lens as if to speak to Peter personally. “ _May Reilly Parker, surrogate mother and family friend to Tony and Steve Stark_.”

“ _And what are we doing today?_ ”

“ _Today, we went to the doctor and got confirmation that I’m five weeks pregnant, my due date is June twentieth, and we’re definitely having a girl_.”

“ _I don’t know about that, but go on._ ”

“ _We’re waiting on Steve to get home, so we can tell him. He’s gonna flip out—in a good way._ ”

“ _In a good way_.”

“ _Definitely a good way,_ ” May agrees, eyes and smile twinkling up at Tony while she nervously plays with the ends of her hair. Although he can’t be seen, Tony is probably smiling back at her.

The footage cuts to a shot of Steve, and Peter gasps at just how young his Dad looks. 2000s Steve is pale and a little bit skinnier than current Steve, but his arms are toned, his face of freckles screams innocence, and there’s something endearing about the way he looks up between May, Tony, and the camera before him.

“ _So, we went to the doctor’s today_ ,” May starts casually to which Steve fidgets in his seat at the dining room table.

“ _Yeah?_ ” he prompts impatiently, fingers drumming anxiously on the table top. “ _What’s up?_ ”

Tony aims the camera at May smirking as she pulls a sonogram from her back pocket and hands it to Steve, who stares at the image for a solid twenty seconds before looking back up at her.

“ _You’re joking_.”

May shakes her head with a pleased grin.

Steve looks beyond the camera and up at Tony. “ _This isn’t real,_ ” he says, waving the ultrasound about. “ _You guys are playing a prank on me._ ”

“ _I’m as serious as a heart attack, honey,”_ Tony promises. _“She’s five weeks._ ”

“ _Five weeks_ ,” Steve repeats in shock , face crumpling with emotion as the realization dawns on him. “ _This is real?”_

“ _Yes_!” May and Tony exclaim in unison.

There’s something precious about the silent moment that follows where Steve’s mouth is agape with disbelief as he processes everything. May has already began to cry a little, but she wipes her face and chuckles at Steve’s expression.

“ _We’re gonna be daddies_?” he whispers.

“ _We sure are, my love,_ ” Tony tells him, his own voice getting choked up. “ _We’re having a baby_.”

Steve takes one final glance at the sonogram before he jumps out of his seat and hugs Tony. All that can be picked up is the flashing blur of the camera filming over Steve's shoulder while the men embrace and the muffled sound of Steve’s crying happy tears.

 _“I love you,_ ” Tony whispers.

 _“I love you_.” Steve sniffles.

The next shot is a private moment between Steve and May set to the low hum of a gentle rock ballad. The height difference puts her head to his chest while he protectively encases her head and shoulders in a strong embrace. After that, the music rises, overlaying a montage edit of younger versions of Natasha, Clint, Sam, Peggy, and Peter’s grandparents reacting to the news. Everyone of them happily congratulates the couple with genuine smiles and tight hugs, and the vibe of the video isn’t that far off from how they all treat him now.

The next scene is Tony and Steve’s wedding, where they renew their vows in a crowded church, have their reception in a hotel ballroom, and document everything in between. Tony has on a classic Tom Ford tuxedo with gold cuff links that offset Steve’s navy blue three piece set, the Mt. Olympus themed atmosphere, and May’s off-white Grecian inspired ball gown. Just as Steve said, they have their first dance to “Because You Loved Me” by Céline Dion, which was corny in Peter’s eyes, but they look undeniably happy to just be in each other’s arms.

During the reception, Clint gets ahold of the camera to get testimonials from the guests, and the general consensus is drunkenly congratulating and excitedly yelling about enjoying marriage. There’s a general theme of positivity and happiness up until Bucky suddenly enters the frame.

Peter gasps. He wasn’t expecting him to show up _anywhere_.

Much like Steve, 2000s Bucky is smaller and visibly younger in the face. His hair is still long but it’s pulled back into a neat bun, showing off a tiny pair of silver hoop earrings hanging from his ears. His dress shirt sleeves are rolled up a quarter of the way up his tattoo-less arms, his pants are sitting low on his hips, and his tie is loose and disheveled like he’d put it on in the dark.

He doesn’t appear amused at being asked about the wedding.

“ _I wish all the best for Steve_ ,” he yells above the music, shrugging and glancing boredly off to the side. He has nothing else to say, but the shot stays on him long enough to catch the uncomfortable micro expressions that take over his face in a matter of seconds.

The rest of the reception ends on a happy note and cuts to a title screen with the word “January” flickering a few times before it shows May, Tony, and Steve going to a doctor’s appointment.

She’s fourteen weeks along, sporting a barely there bump that is only noticeable when she wears a form fitting dress and glowing even though the sun isn’t out. This is when Peter was the size of a peach and his internal organs just finished forming. They get another sonogram to add to the one they got at five weeks, and May goes on for five minutes about how much she’s craving pickles with chocolate ice cream.

When February and March come along, May is well into her second trimester, but it doesn’t stop her from helping Steve and Tony move into what is now their house. By this point, her stomach is protruding enough to tell she’s with child. Her small frame carrying such weight is weirdly proportional and Peter loves watching the three of them rub and coo at May’s stomach every chance they get.

At twenty-five weeks, Natasha accompanies May and Steve to another doctor’s appointment. Before the technician enters the room, Natasha captures extra footage of May and Steve holding hands and talking silently between themselves while she lays on the ultrasound table. Despite May being significantly older than Steve, they just look like a regular couple of twenty-somethings, expecting their first child.

“ _You have predictions on the sex?_ ” Natasha asks from behind the camera.

“ _Girl_ ,” they say in unison.

“ _Tony feels like it’s a boy, but Tony isn’t as connected as I am_ ,” May explains, absently rubbing her stomach. Steve nods in agreement.

“ _Any names picked out?_ ” The frame zooms in on the two of them.

 _“I like Marisa,_ ” Steve says, leaning his elbows on the table. “ _But it’s just an idea for now._ ”

The next shot shows the technician conducting the ultrasound, with isolated audio of the baby’s heartbeat over a sweet piano instrumental. Moments later, the camera zooms in to focus on May and Steve’s matching looks of shock when the technician tells them they’re having not having a girl.

At the end of May’s second trimester, they throw a baby shower at Tony and Steve’s house where the guests are required to wear various shades of blue. There’s a glittery It’s A Boy banner hanging above the kitchen that May poses under with a few guests. Her stomach sticks out proudly under the flowy, light blue strapless dress that Peter is sure she was proud to put on.

In between scenes of guests and party games, there’s another round of testimonials from the family and friends attending.

“ _Kid, we don’t know your name yet, but your punk ass dad has waited his entire life to have you_ ,” early 2000s Sam confesses. “ _I can already tell you’re going to be spoiled as hell, but hey, not my money. Your family loves you and I can’t wait for my charming, little nephew to get here.”_

“ _I’m gonna be the best god mom all of time_ ,” Natasha, sporting a tongue ring and butterfly clips in her hair, tells the camera. “ _I’m gonna take you out for your first drink at thirteen.”_

Peter chuckles at the abrupt cut to Steve shaking his head at the camera.

“ _At the risk of sounding like an absolute sap, I’d like to go on record and say that you are going to be loved beyond the limits of being loved,_ ” Tony says, pointing at the camera as though he’s in front of Peter. “ _How is that possible? I don’t know. We’ll have to find out. You are the light of my life, fire of my loins, and the reason I will not know peace for the rest of my life.”_

Steve laughs off-screen. “ _But?_ ” he prompts, and Tony’s eyes soften.

“ _But every minute of sleep I don’t get will be worth it,_ ” he finishes, definite in the words he’s saying. “ _Your father and I are going to love you more than words can describe, and I’m counting the days until you get here.”_

It’s an intense declaration to make that rings ironic with everything that’s happened. Even with hearing this, it doesn’t change how unwanted and unloved Peter feels at the moment.

The shot cuts to Steve, appearing nervous in front of the camera. He’s still practically a kid himself so it’s easy to see why he’s so anxious, but it doesn’t negate from his excitement.

“ _We don’t have a name for you yet since May and I were certain you’d be a girl,”_ he starts, laughing unsurely to himself as he scratches the back of his neck. “ _You could come out with nine toes or a third eye and I wouldn’t love you any less. You’re gonna be an amazing kid with the world as his oyster and your father and I are gonna do everything in our power to be the best parents we can be for you.”_

He looks to the floor in thought, shuffling awkwardly as he tries to articulate what more to say.

“ _Your grandparents can't fathom why I’d wanna have a baby when I’m not even finished with school yet, and I can’t say I have an answer. I guess I’ll know June twentieth when we have you.”_

May, in all her pregnant glory and glow appears next, and there’s no way she could smile any wider than she is in this shot.

“ _Baby boy, you give me headaches, backaches, swollen feet and cravings so disgusting that I would kill myself over if I weren’t pregnant,”_ she begins then gestures down to her stomach. “ _But, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I swear I’ll be the coolest surrogate mother, aunt, godmom, whatever the fuck ever. I love you and I’ll always love you. Please get here soon. But not too soon.”_

Following the baby shower, May goes into her third trimester and there’s a discussion about baby names. Tony and Steve can’t agree on any of the names written in May’s diary nor do they budge when the other suggests they name him after one of their fathers. There’s already one Howard Stark, and Joseph Stark doesn’t roll off the tongue right.

In the middle of their back and forth, May takes the camera to tour the nursery they’d just finished decorating. It’s blue and white with silver accents, similar to how Peter’s room looks now save for the baby furniture and stuffed animals.

“ _You guys are still fighting?”_ she interrupts incredulously when she goes back downstairs.

“ _Discussing_ ,” Steve corrects.

Tony grimaces and looks over the list of names again. “ _I don’t like any of these.”_

_“Well, we gotta pick one.”_

_“You didn’t like Benjamin?”_ May asks, making Tony and Steve pause to exchange a look. “ _Benjamin Stark is cute.”_

“ _Benjamin Stark_ ,” Steve tries the name out, mumbling as he writes it down in the diary. “ _Benjamin Joseph Stark. Benjamin Stark. I think if Ben were here, he’d love it.”_

_“Don’t feel obligated to just because—”_

Tony waves his hand to cut her off, looking beyond the camera to her face. “ _I love it. I like Benjamin. Benjamin Howard Stark.”_

Steve scoffs. “ _Joseph Stark.”_

Tony narrows his eyes. “ _Howard_.”

“ _Joseph_.”

“ _Howard_.”

May excludes herself from another argument to film a quick clip of her stomach moving.

Thirty-three weeks brings Braxton Hicks contractions.

Thirty-six weeks brings what May’s doula calls dropping which is the baby settling lower into her pelvis in preparation for birth. Steve finishes his junior year of college and starts reading parenting books while Tony appoints his then business partner, Obadiah, in control of Stark Industries while he’s on paternity leave. It’s a hectic time because everyone involved is freaking out.

Forty weeks in, every day leading up to June twentieth is a busy one. If it’s not one thing getting done in preparation for who they call Benjamin’s arrival, it’s another. Peter has never seen May or his parents so stressed out.

When June twentieth comes, nothing happens. There’s a lot of pacing around and waiting for May to announce her water has broken, but it’s just a regular day for the three of them. All being first time parents, they freak out and consult with the doctor to which they learn a due date is more of an estimation rather than an exact time.

July first comes. Nothing happens.

They cancel their Fourth of July cookout to assure nothing could go wrong in the event May goes into labor. Obviously she doesn’t, but Steve spends his twenty-first birthday anxiously hovering by the front door with the hospital bag slung over his shoulder.

It’s a wonder how she did it, but May gets actual footage of her water breaking in the middle of yet another name discussion at two in the morning. When it happens, the three of them freeze and stare at each other for a comical amount of time before they kick into action.

Tony drives while Steve and May sit in the backseat, documenting what’s going on and their emotions. It’s hard to make their faces out in the darkness of the backseat at two in the morning, but if Peter knows his parents, he knows Steve is sweating himself into an anxiety attack, Tony is making faces at the road, and May is the only calm one.

They get to the hospital at a quarter to three and May is in bed, hooked up to an IV and heart monitor and clad in a blue gown by three-thirty. She’s only two centimeters dilated, so the doctors and nurses tell her to rest and that they’ll be back later to check on them.

“ _Do you feel anything?”_ Steve asks at her bedside, filming the hospital room with fascination. Tony is slumped on a couch, holding his third cup of coffee.

May shakes her head and continues rubbing her bump. _“I mean, it’s a slight pressure, but it’s nothing too bad. It’s more discomfort than pain, actually.”_

“ _Are you scared?”_

May thinks for a second and fiddles with the ends of her hair. “ _Nervous_.”

This scene fades into another, fast forwarded to five in the morning and there’s still no progression in terms of dilation. Everyone’s jitters turn to boredom and another few hours pass before May is three centimeters dilated.

From seven to ten in the morning, there’s nothing. By eleven, Steve’s parents visit and May is halfway there and contractions have gotten more intense. Sam, Natasha, and Clint stop by at noon, May is administered epidural at six centimeters at one, and two is when things start to pick up.

The urge to push increases the more she’s dilated, but the nurses urge her, Tony, and Steve to relax because apparently they still have time. Another hour of nothing passes before four in the afternoon hits and May, at a full ten centimeters, grows even more agitated with the situation.

Tony is on his feet by May’s bedside when it comes time to push. Steve’s shaky grip on the camera isn’t stable enough to catch the birth itself, but audio of May’s intermediate grunting, Tony encouraging her, and the nurses counting each set is loud and clear to the rapid flash and blurred shots of the delivery room.

“ _Okay, we see the head,”_ one nurse announces. “ _We’re gonna do another set of ten, okay, Mom?”_

“ _Take a deep breath,”_ another instructs. “ _And push!”_

“ _You got this, May_ ,” Tony says. “ _You’re doing just fine_.”

As Peter watches and listens, he can’t help but wonder if this is is how Tony was with Pepper just two months ago. In fact, he’s shocked at how involved he is.

“ _—eight, nine, ten!”_ the chorus of nurses say aloud.

“ _We’ve got one more and he’ll be out!”_

“ _One more?”_ May whines.

“ _Another set of ten, alright? One, two, three…”_

The editing is fluid and dramatic at this part of the video with the audio being cut out and replaced with emotional music, quick glimpses between a black screen of the nurses and doctors surrounding May, Tony watching in amazement, and the exact moment when Peter is born.

Just as Tony told him, the umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck twice and there’s a commotion when Peter doesn’t immediately begin to cry. His little body covered in blood and waxy vernix squirms in the doctor’s arms as they free his neck.

“ _I-I-Is he okay? Is he alright? Why isn’t he crying? Oh, god, is he—?”_ Steve is crying off camera, unable to film on account of his emotions getting the best of him.

“ _Sir, we need you to either calm down or leave so that—”_ one of the nurses snaps, but is cut off by the baby’s sudden shrill scream.

On cue, Steve collapses, bringing the camera down with him.

The next scene starts with a zoomed in shot of May holding a blue bundle in her arms as she sits upward in the hospital bed. No one would’ve ever thought she just gave birth by how rejuvenated she looks.

The shot cuts to Tony signing the birth certificate, Steve crying as he rocks the newborn in his arms, and all of their friends coming by to meet him. Even though there’s blatant footage, Natasha denies tearing up to this day. Nearly everyone who shows up to visit sheds a few happy tears actually.

“ _It’s July eighth, 2001.”_ Tony’s monologue overlays extra footage of Tony cutting the umbilical cord, Steve holding Peter, May breastfeeding, the gifts people brought by, Peter getting his footprint taken, and Sam helping Steve install seat. “ _Peter Benjamin Stark was born yesterday at approximately four thirty-seven in the afternoon at seven pounds and three ounces. He’s in perfect health. Ten fingers. Ten toes. It may be a bit of wishful thinking, but he looks just like me._

“ _I don’t know how this father thing is supposed to work, but Steve and I will do our best to do it right. I’m shaking a little like when I used to go through withdrawals, but this is a good shaking, I think? Like, an excited shake? Anyway…”_

The frame cuts to Tony’s face looking off into the dark hospital room, presumably when everyone is asleep. “ _Peter, this is for when you turn eighteen,”_ he whispers tentatively, which is way out of Pop’s character. “ _I don’t know how different things will be by then, but I guess we’ll get there when we get there. You have a lot of people who love you. May loves you. Your father loves you. I love you, and I hope that when the time comes and you stumble along this monumental piece of ancient history, you’ll feel how much we do.”_

The last shot of the video is a bird’s eye view of baby Peter scrunched up in a hospital bassinet, fast asleep and unbothered, set to yet another soft song that rolls onto the credits. Tony and Steve edited it themselves.

The tape ends and Peter ejects it from the VCR, thinking over the half hour video he just watched.

It was so happy and unsuspecting of what the future held for the people in it. Peter wouldn’t believe it for himself if it weren’t already his reality.

If anything, it shines a new perspective on his parents and the people around him. It’s no wonder why they waited so long to say something about the divorce when they once had it all in each other and a beautiful baby boy. Who in their right mind would want to let go of that and admit it’s over?

No one, obviously.

Which is why Peter can’t fault his parents for moving on the way they did. As happy as it all was, it just wasn’t meant to be.

Peter exhales, putting the tape back where he found it and climbing on the bed.

He’s still not tired, but he has a lot to think about.

  
\- - 

  
The following morning, May gets Peter up a couple of hours before Steve said he’d be by to pick him up. Peter doesn’t mention the video as they eat breakfast and he tries to forget ever seeing it while he showers, gets dressed, and waits for Steve.

“You call me as soon as you get back up there, okay?” May urges him, holding Peter close when Steve pull up in the driveway.

“I promise,” Peter says, squeezing around her waist.

“Good boy.” She pulls back and pinches his cheek. “Tell Bucky I said hi.”

“I will.” Peter hops down the front porch steps and waves behind him. “Bye, May!”

She waves back and smiles at Steve in the front seat.

“Hi, Dad!” Peter chirps when he climbs into the truck, throwing his arms around his father’s neck before either of them can think.

“Oh,” Steve squeaks unexpectedly and pats Peter's head. “I’m happy to see you, too, buddy. Have fun?”

“Yeah, I did,” he says, letting go and then putting his seatbelt on. “Can we see the new house now?”

Just as Steve described, their new house isn’t as big as Pop’s, but it feels the home all the same.

  
\- - 

Thankfully when Peter gets back to Ithaca, everything is as it was. Bucky is still teaching him how to drive, Steve cooks and works, Peggy gives him good hours, Michelle doesn’t let him breathe, and Johnny is happy they no longer hide anything.

Peter savors it all, not even remotely worried about when he’ll have to leave it in a couple of short weeks.

It’s on a day like any other when Peter and Bucky come home from driving practice to see that the Rolls Royce is gone from the garage and a very familiar orange Lamborghini has taken its place.

Peter side eyes Bucky.

He glares right back. “I didn’t do anything,” he mumbles defensively and opens the door leading into the hallway.

There’s a distinct scent of expensive cologne permeating the house that could only belong to one person, and even when all the signs lead to that one person, Peter is still shocked entering the living room to see Tony sitting on the sofa next to Steve.

Surprisingly enough, they’re not fighting but instead enjoying a glass of lemonade, talking until Peter and Bucky walk in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elephant in the room: I deleted my story “Brother.” 
> 
> I’m not proud of her or any other work I’ve done pertaining to her, and I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve done the story better, but the embarrassment of trying to fix her became overwhelming. 
> 
> I apologize that I deleted her in the midst of some of you guys reading her, so I have a solution for anyone who would like to finish her.  
> Email me at ladyblackwater38@gmail.com and I’ll send you a copy. Thanks for understanding, my lovelies!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter took so long to get here. If I'm honest, I stalled on writing it because this is the second to last chapter of the story then the epilogue. It has been an interesting experience writing this and I don't want it to end, but all good things must do so. I've played with the concept of this story for months before ever writing it and now that we've come down to the last few chapters, I'm a little sad. 
> 
> by the fucking way, I love HalcyonSeasons.

Steve looks up from their conversation first and Tony follows, turning around to peer at Bucky and Peter at the living room entrance. The four of them stare at each other for an uncertain length of time before Steve clears his throat and puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Hey, guys,” he says. “We’re just getting some stuff together for the hearing tomorrow.

Nobody says anything at first. Peter winces, remembering that tomorrow is really the day Steve and Tony become legally divorced. Eighteen years of marriage just… gone. Over.

“And I figured since I’m gonna be up here for a day or two, I might as well see my boy,” Tony adds, gesturing to Peter with the hand without a brace. “You down for a little quality time with your old man, kiddo?” 

Even though that’s what Peter has wanted since he was sent up here, he hesitates and checks Steve’s expression. 

He’s looking back at Peter hopefully, silently begging  _ please?  _ rather than sternly demanding that he accept Tony’s offer. Getting Steve to say something bad about Tony is like pulling teeth. 

Bucky’s arms are crossed with his legs evenly spread apart in a defensive stance with an unfriendly glare directed right at Tony until Peter looks at him for silent advice. He lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head towards the boy’s father saying,  _ it’s up to you.  _

Peter fiddles with the hem of his shirt and nods. “Yeah, I’m down.” 

Tony smiles a big genuine smile that stretches from ear to ear, bringing out the best wrinkles, creases, and laugh lines in his face. The familiarity melts away some of Peter’s initial apprehension, but he doesn’t let himself get too excited when he remembers why Tony is here. 

“Great!” Tony squeaks. “Wherever you wanna go, Petey, we’ll go. Rome, Ibiza, Greece—”

“He has work in the morning, Tony,” Steve interrupts tiredly, looking down at the coffee table. 

“Okay, fine. We’ll stay in the country. California? West Hollywood is always fun,” Tony suggests.

Bucky’s eyes roll off to the side. 

“Um, actually,” Peter mumbles. “We don’t have to do anything, like, fancy.” 

“West Hollywood isn’t fancy.” 

Steve’s eyes roll now too. “We could go sailing. I’ve been wanting to take the boat out for a while, and we could make it a family thing,” he says, awkwardly gesturing between Tony and Peter. “You know how we used to?” 

“I guess I can get with the vibe,” Tony agrees. “Is that alright with you, Pete?” 

“Pop, nobody says ‘vibe’ anymore,” Peter tells him but nods anyway. “But yeah, that sounds fun.” 

“Bucky.” Steve bats his eyelashes over at his boyfriend. “You wanna come?” 

Translation:  _ Please come.  _

Nobody needs to be an expert on body language to read how hesitant Bucky is about the situation. He doesn’t want to go, but he’ll come off as the bitter and uncooperative boyfriend if he doesn’t. Steve and Peter know this as well as they know Bucky would rather choke than give Tony the satisfaction in knowing his presence annoys Bucky.

In the brief moment in takes for Bucky to answer, he sneers but manages to fake a tense smile when Tony looks over at him. 

“Of course,” he says tightly, narrowing his gaze at Tony and Steve. “I’d love to take a nice boat ride on the lake with my family. ‘Cus this is certainly a  _ family _ thing.” 

Tony claps his hands together. “Great!” he exclaims, standing from his spot on the couch. “Who’s hungry? Is there a Thai place around here or do you guys eat berries off bushes?” 

Steve rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but chuckles nonetheless. “There are a few spots in town if you feel like driving. Bucky and I are making spaghetti and meatballs, though.” 

Tony exhales wistfully. “Oh, you know I love your spaghetti and meatballs,” he says and Bucky shifts uncomfortably. 

“Actually, we’re using Buck’s recipe,” Steve tells him almost shyly. 

Tony swerves around to look at Bucky. “Didn’t know you could cook, Barnes.” 

Steve and Peter hold their breath, anticipating the worst when Bucky pops his hip out and makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. 

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. You’re more than welcome to stay.” 

Steve knows both men well enough to garner whether or not Bucky is being a smartass in retaliation to Tony being what could be antagonizing under the guise of being curious. His eyes flit between his former and current lover, and it only then dawns on Peter how uncomfortable this must be for him. He looks like he wants to be set on fire, but there’s no god gracious enough to let that happen. 

“I’d love to stay as long as it’s okay with my darling ex-husband and my perpetually disappointed son,” Tony says, pointing to each of them casually. 

Peter covers up his laugh with a wince. “Uh, it’s fine with me. Dad?”

Steve shrugs, feigning nonchalance but no one wears their expressions as boldly as he does. “Yeah, that’s fine. Then afterwards we can take the boat out.” 

Tony appears much to chipper about all of this. “Great! Good! Awesome! It’s gonna be a great night!” He rests a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder that Bucky’s gaze zeroes in on with confusion. “Buckaroo, how long does it take to make?” 

Bucky dips his shoulder away as he backs away in the kitchen’s direction and Tony’s hand falls back to his side. “Forty-five minutes,” he answers shortly. 

“Perfect! Gives a little time for the mini-me and I to talk.” Tony’s brown eyes dart to Peter then to the patio. “Is now a good time?” 

_ All summer was a good time. _

“Yeah, um, just lemme change,” he mutters, glancing around at the adults in the room before heading upstairs. 

The first thing Peter does when he reaches his room is look out the huge window facing the lake to watch Tony stroll out on the patio, hands deep in his designer dark wash denim pockets while he stares out at the lake. 

This should be interesting.

He trades his day clothes for a pair of basketball shorts and Johnny’s hoodie. The prominent smell of Bucky’s tomato sauce hits Peter’s nostrils when he bounces back downstairs and goes to meet his father outside. Bucky and Steve’s conversation stops abruptly when they watch him make his way outside from the kitchen. 

Tony turns to the sound of Pete opening the sliding door and grins with his arm up invitingly. “There’s the boy wonder,” he teases, clapping Peter’s back and then jostling his shoulder. 

“Hey, Pop.” Peter shuffles awkwardly beside Tony and forces his face to not break out in a smile because he’s missed this so much. “How are you? How’s, um, uh, Pepper and the baby?” 

Tony’s smiles doesn’t falter, but it does go weary and uncomfortable at the question even if Peter is asking to be polite and diffuse the absurdity of the obvious elephant in the room. 

“They’re good, but before we get into them, how are you?” he asks. “Nearly three months away and you’re all tan, you’ve got a bit of muscle, and jeez, Pete, what are you, like, five-ten now?”

Peter snickers. “I wish.” 

“Seriously, kiddo, tell me what’s been going on. Every time I heard from you, you’re getting beat up, you ran away from home—”

“I didn’t run away.” 

“Details.” Tony jostles him again. “C’mon! Talk to your old man. I’m all ears.” 

Deep-rooted anger clenches at Peter’s insides, a tell that he’s not ready to talk to Tony, but he’s wanted this since he got sent up here.

“Really? I don’t even know where to start.” 

“The beginning always works.” 

He has so much to tell, but even with Tony’s welcoming attitude and smile, Peter doesn’t know if he should. “I mean, uh, it’s been fun. I met a lot of people and made some friends. Uh, um, I really like the house, and uh—”

“Okay, lemme stop you there,” Tony interrupts with a hand up. Peter exhales a sigh of relief. 

“Guess we should start with the big event and make our way up to asking how your summer’s been,” he suggests. “How am I? God, well, I’m on a lot of legal drugs and painkillers and definitely shouldn’t have driven myself, but other than that, I’m alright. How’s Pepper? She pissed about me not telling you about her, and I assume it’s vice versa, so hey! You guys have something in common. Uh, what else? Oh, Harley! Yes, he cries throughout the night every night which is weird because when you were a baby, all you did was sleep. Other than the fact that he’s an insomniac just like his father, he’s a chipper little thing and probably the only Stark or future Stark who doesn’t hate my guts.” 

Tony grins to the side, lips pulled together thinly as he looks over at Peter. 

Peter winces. “Pop, I don’t hate you. I mean, I’m not really a big fan of you at the moment, but I don’t hate you.” 

“You sure? When Dad told me you didn’t wanna see me, I pretty much figured that you did. Not that I blame you if you do, of course.” Tony frowns. “Listen I, uh—” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up.”    


“A little.” 

“I’ve done a lot of questionable things in my life. But I’ve never regretted something this much.” 

Peter side eyes him. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Tony jumps in, turning to face him. “I love Pep and the baby. I don’t regret meeting her, having a child together, getting engaged, and that whole shebang. Not at all. I mean, yeah, the way I got there was less than the noble act of a knight in shining armor, but—” He pauses, looking off at the lake in thought, then scrunches his face up. “You know, Petey, I never thought I’d end up here and be like my dad.” 

“Grandpa had a family on the side too?”

Tony cringes at the bluntness of the question and shakes his head. “I don’t mean in a literal sense, but in a I’ve-neglected-my-kid-and-now-they-resent-me kinda way. A I-hurt-to-my-kid-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-patch-things-up-without-tossing-materialistic-things-at-them kinda way. There’s a lot of ways for this to go, but you get the gist.” 

“I don’t resent you,” Peter tells him, unsure of that himself. 

The look Tony gives him easily says he doesn’t believe him. “You don’t hate me and you don’t resent me. What is it, Pete? Huh? Tell me. You feel  _ something _ .”

“I’m fine,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Fine?” Tony points at him. “You’re  _ fine _ . Completely fine with the fact that I sent you up here and didn’t tell you about anything that’s been going on this summer? It doesn’t bother you at all?” 

Peter shakes his head down at his bare feet. 

Tony snorts. “You’re a worse liar than your Dad, if that’s even possible.” 

“Bucky said the same thing.” 

“It’s worth repeating then.” 

Peter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. “I’m not lying. I really am okay with everything. It’ll take getting used to, b-but I’m okay.” His voice quivers and he bites his lip to keep from tearing up. 

He’s so tired of crying. 

“I just wanna know why, I guess,” he huffs, wiping a stray tear off of his cheek. “I don’t want an apology ‘cus I know you’re sorry, but I guess an explanation will make sense of, ya know, everything.” 

Tony nods. “Whatever you wanna know.” 

Tony hasn’t always been the best at explaining anything, so Peter already has low expectations of what will become of this conversation. 

“Whatever I wanna know?” Peter repeats apprehensively. “The last time you told me I could ask anything and you’d tell me, you lied and said there was no cheating involved. So, are you telling the truth this time?”

“The truth is out there, Petey. I have nothing else to hide. I didn’t came up here to lie to you. You’re owed an explanation and an apology.  _ That’s _ what I’m here for.”

“You’re here to divorce Dad,” Peter bitterly reminds him. 

“Is that what you want me to explain? We’re getting a divorce on grounds of irreconcilable differences and it sucks.” Tony shrugs tensely. 

“You’re getting a divorce because you cheated on him.” 

Tony regards him with a suspiciously shocked look. “Is that _all_ Dad told you?” 

“Is that not the truth?” 

“Half of it,” the man muses with a funny wiggle of his mustache. “Look, Pete, I’m sorry—”

“I already told you I don’t need an apology,” Peter interrupts, pouting as anger rises from the pit of his stomach. “And now that I think of it, Dad already told me everything so I  _ don’t _ need an explanation from you either.”

“Dad told you  _ his _ side of things.” Tony narrows his eyes at his son, staring him down with curiosity as the anger blooms over Peter’s face. “I just wanna make things right.” 

“Are you sure you didn’t come here to undermine him like you always do?” the teenager spits out. “Rub your new perfect wife and baby in his face? Let everyone in Ithaca know that you kicked out your own son to bring complete strangers into his house?” 

“I didn’t kick you out to bring them in,” Tony tells him. “I always intended that we’d all live together and be—” 

“One big, happy family?” Peter finishes for him. “Yeah, right. If that’s so, then why did you send me here? Huh? Why hide? You could’ve just told me, Pop, so why didn’t you? You had chance after chance to tell me, you didn’t and you expect me to believe you wanted us to all be just one big, happy ass fucking family?” 

The question leaves Tony speechless for a moment as he overlooks Peter in such an upset state. The look he gives his son is calculated like he’s visibly thinking about what to say next. 

“You’re just like your father,” Tony whispers, almost fondly, unable to hold back the love in his tone. “You sound like him, act like him, all of it.”  

Peter’s bottom lip wobbles, anger gradually transitioning to sadness with each passing second. “Is that why you don’t want me?” he wonders aloud, voice calm yet unsteady. 

Tony exhales tiredly. “I never meant to make you feel unwanted, but it doesn’t matter what I meant because I did it anyway, huh? God, Petey, I could’ve handled this so much better.” 

“Why, though?” Peter sniffles and wipes his nose. “And I don’t mean why you cheated or why you had a baby behind our backs because at this point it doesn’t matter. Just, like, why? Ya know, why? W-why’d you keep it from me?” 

“Would you have been able to handle it at once?” Tony asks genuinely. “The divorce, meeting Pep and Harley, Dad moving out, meeting Bucky, moving in with them—all of it?” 

If he knows himself well enough, Peter would’ve malfunctioned and collapsed under the weight of such rapid changes back to back. 

“No,” he mumbles. “Maybe you thought you were protecting me, but really you hurt me. Like, a lot. Like, this whole time you’ve had them and never told me. Were you ashamed of Pepper knowing me or something?” 

Tony shakes his head immediately and points to Peter. “Let’s get something clear: I have never,  _ ever _ been ashamed of you. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. You’re my greatest creation and there’s nothing that’s gonna change that. Do you understand?” 

“Pop, I—” 

“I didn’t say anything about them because I wanted to buy myself time. Regardless of when I told you, you would’ve hated me. You say you wouldn’t have, but like I said, you’re a terrible liar,” he explains, hands up in surrender. “I wanted to hold off that look of disappointment you’re giving me right now.” 

“When would you have even said anything?” Peter hutches his shoulders, looking off at the lake. “When I come back to Queens and my bedroom is a nursery?” 

“Pete, we have five bedrooms and you know I wouldn’t have let that happen.  _ Now _ you’re just being dramatic.” 

Tony is right, but Peter defiantly juts his chin out.

“You’re really not gonna let me explain any of it?” 

“Dad already told me everything.” 

“ _ He told you his side _ ,” Tony reiterates. 

“What more is there to say about it, Pop? You’re just gonna say he’s a liar to make yourself look better.”

“Steve Rogers is a lot of things, but he’s  _ not  _ a liar and I’d  _ never  _ say he was. Whatever he told you as his truth, believe him. Just because it’s not parallel with mine doesn’t make it untrue, so please,” Tony sighs, rubbing his temples. “You don’t have to believe me but at least listen so I can sleep well enough at night knowing I gave you  _ something _ .” 

Peter considers it, but doesn’t let his face show that he is. 

Tony makes a frustrated sound. “I really want to explain myself. You don’t think I’m worth that?”

Peter doesn’t say anything at first. The thing is he doesn’t know what to say because while he is angry on Steve’s behalf and his own, he can’t say he’d be completely alright with Tony leaving without telling Peter what he thinks his son should know.

After a moment, Peter looks past Tony then averts his gaze right at the man. “I guess.” 

Tony, taking that for what it is, heaves a sigh of relief and puts his hands in his pockets. “First thing is I don’t want you to blame Pepper for anything, okay?” he starts cautiously. “It’ll be hard not to at first, I get that, but trust me, she’s not to blame for any of what happened between Dad and I.” 

“Except sleeping with a married man,” Peter grumbles below his breath. 

“You warmed up to Barnes quite nicely, so I don’t see why  _ that  _ should be a problem,” Tony snaps back and releases the tension in his shoulders with another exhale. “Pete, this is only gonna work if you let your guard down. I didn’t come up here to suddenly tell you I hate you and Steve, or that Harley is my favorite son. If that’s what you're waiting for, don't hold your breath.” 

Peter frowns at his father, shamefully glaring down at his feet again. 

“I didn’t wanna fall out of love with Dad. I really didn’t,” Tony says. “I wanted to be together forever and prove everyone who said marrying some college kid from Brooklyn was a bad idea wrong. But things don’t work out the way we want and the same way I fell for him, I fell for Pepper and granted, it was definitely not good to have went behind Steve’s back and hurt him the way I did, but, kiddo, it’s something I’ve gotta live with forever. I do blame myself for not trying and taking the coward’s way out.”

“What does Pepper have that Dad didn’t?” 

An enamored smile creeps its sly way over Tony’s face. “It’s not even that she had something he doesn’t. In fact, they’re just alike. Intelligent, gentle, nurturing, and not afraid to check me if need be. It’s just that—” He pauses and briefly thinks. “Steve and I loved each other at a weird point in our lives and it came to a point where we couldn’t be involved the way we were and be happy. We were incredibly young when we got together and there could’ve been a million signs telling us we weren’t gonna work, but we didn’t wanna give into any of it because I’m not good at feelings and he’s too stubborn.” 

Peter nods to show he’s listening. 

“And if I’m honest, there was a comfort in having Pepper and Dad,” Tony continues. “Pepper in her own way and Dad in his. I was so selfishly wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn’t realize how much it’d end up hurting you guys. It wasn’t until I saw how happy Barnes made Dad that I figured there’s no way our marriage was going to last any longer. It was painfully obvious that Steve was gone for the guy and I was in love with Pepper, but the last thing we wanted was to break up the home we’d created for you.

“This may sound absolutely batshit crazy, but I broke down when Steve gave me the divorce papers. And you know how he is. If someone else cries, he cries, so picture two grown men—your adoring fathers—blubbering away like babies over a stack of divorce papers, at the fanciest restaurant in Manhattan, on our eighteenth wedding anniversary. The manager was concerned we didn’t like our filet mignon, but in reality, we were losing our minds over separating.” 

“He gave you the papers on your anniversary?” Peter asks in utter disbelief. It doesn’t get any more petty than that and as unlike Steve as Peter  _ thinks  _ it is, it’s very on brand of him. 

“He’s dramatic that way.” 

“And you just agreed?” 

“What else was I gonna do? Argue and plead a case where somehow our marriage can fit in my pregnant fiancé and unborn child? C’mon, Pete, the sparks died out long before either of us found anybody else, and it was time to let go. It’s time to let go.” 

Tony turns his back to Peter to look off at the trees swaying to the tune of the wind and inhales a whiff of fresh air before turning back to his son with his signature smirk. “Pepper really wants to get to know you, but if you’d prefer to keep your distance, she understands. If you decide you wanna live with Dad full time, I understand.” 

Peter nods. “I, um, actually don’t have any furniture at Dad’s new place, so I don’t have much of a choice but to stay with you guys right now.”

“You always have a choice,” Tony reminds him, putting a gentle hand to his shoulder. “No one expects you to just be alright or adjust to everything so quickly, and it wouldn’t be fair to start your senior year with all these distractions at home. If you’d really rather not be around us, you can always stay with May.”

Peter squints, waiting for the catch but Tony just stares back at him, awaiting a response. After another moment of Peter not saying anything, Tony fills in the silence again. 

“Just because things are changing doesn’t mean things have to be different,” he declares confidently. “I’ve read up about this kinda thing and they’ll be a adjustment period in which we’ll be unwilling to go with the flow, but like I said, no one is forcing you into anything. I just want you home again. I want us to be okay. Us as in you, my son, and I.”

Peter has never heard Tony talk this way. To be fair, Peter doesn't think anyone has. It’s certainly not parallel to Grandpa Howard’s method of parenting if Tony’s retelling of his childhood is anything to go by, but maybe that’s the point.

This change in Tony is refreshing. It’s warm and inviting in a way Peter expects from May or Steve.

As nice as it is, he doesn’t know how he feels about it. 

Could having a baby influence Tony’s sudden gentleness about their situation?

“Why are you being so cool and nonchalant about all of this?” he asks. 

Tony shrugs. “I’m freaking out on the inside but my therapist tells me that I tend to project onto others, so if I stay cool, everyone else stays cool. Like just now? I really wanted to grab Barnes by his uniquely chiseled face and ask just what the hell it is about him that Steve likes so much, but as most cases of being cool go, that wouldn’t be an accurate depiction.”

“Do you hate Bucky?” 

“If you would’ve asked me eighteen years ago, the answer would’ve been yes. But now, at fifty with a new baby and a wedding to plan?” Tony shakes his head. “Not anymore.” 

“Anymore?” Peter wonders aloud. “What do you—”

Peter’s question is cut off by Steve opening the sliding door and poking his head out. “Everything alright out here?” 

Tony’s eyes attentively flit over to Peter. The boy nods to him with a sideways smile, trusting that everything really will be alright if it’s not right now. 

“Yeah, we’re good,” Peter says. “Everything's alright.” 

“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?”

Tony looks back over at Peter, allowing him to answer. 

Peter nods again. “No, we were just finishing up.” 

“Good ‘cus we need to set the table. C’mon.” 

Bucky outdoes himself with dinner so much so that Tony showers him in immense praise all throughout the meal. With the general mood of the evening wavering on awkward yet relaxed, Steve and Peter stay at the edge of their seats watching the two of them even when they’re not directly interacting. Neither have made any smart remarks yet and it’s tiring holding a breath waiting for two grown men to not behave cordially. 

After dinner, Peter and Bucky clean the kitchen while Steve and Tony get the boat ready. The sun hasn’t set completely yet which makes for a pleasant view of a ride around the lake. Peter brings along his speaker to play music, Tony takes video of every splash in the water despite Steve assuring him there’s no sharks as he steers, and Bucky lays out on the deck, staring up at the sky. 

Peter can’t tell what emotion he’s sporting from his spot next to Steve, but he decides against bothering him and listens to his parents go back and forth about sea creatures. 

All in all, it’s an alright evening. 

 

 

 

When they get back to the house, Tony goes straight from the boat through the backyard and into the garage. It’s not late, but he insists he has to go because of the hearing tomorrow. 

“I’ll be here to pick you up at ten, Rogers,” Tony says, pointing a mock-accusing finger to Steve as he leans in the car door. “So be up, bright eyed and bushy tailed.” 

“I’m the morning person here,” Steve reminds him, patting his shoulder before opening the garage door for Tony to reverse. “I’ll be up and ready to go. I promise.” 

“Good!” Tony squeaks and nods over at Peter. “Gimme a sec with the golden child.” 

Steve nods and gives Tony a secret look as he reenters the house. Peter shuffles over to Tony and tries to fight grinning at the look of pride he’s receiving.

“You okay?” Tony asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“You’re sure.” 

“Mhm,” he hums. “Are you leaving right after the hearing?” 

“I was thinking about staying around and treating Dad to a we’re-happy-it-happened-not-sad-because-it’s-over drink. Why?” 

“I, uh, wanted to talk about living arrangements.” 

Tony nods, beaming from ear to ear. “We can definitely do that.” 

Unable to help himself, Peter puts his arms around Tony’s neck and pulls him in for a hug. They’re the same height, but Tony treats the gesture as though it’s from a little child by patting his back and squeezing affectionately. 

“I’ve missed you, Pop,” Peter confesses, finally letting himself breathe around the man because Tony is right about it being time to let go. 

It’s been hard to do so, but in time Peter will learn how to let go not just with the divorce, but with other things that have yet to happen. 

Things that are happening very soon.   
  
  
  
  
\--  
  


 

Peter stares himself down in the mirror before him, straining his brain to remember what that damn  _ Seventeen _ magazine said about color coordinating clothes with skin tone. It shouldn’t matter because regardless of what he wears, Johnny will appreciate the effort he put into buying a whole new outfit just to go on a date to the carnival. 

(A date that will end with Peter spending the night at his apartment.) 

“You’ve been staring at yourself in the same outfit for—” Michelle checks her phone boredly. “At least six minutes. Do you know how long six minutes is?” 

“For someone who has no opinion on any of the outfits I’ve tried on, you sure are complaining a lot.”

Michelle glares up at him through the mirror from her spot on the fitting room bench. “Well, when you said we’d be going back to school clothes shopping, I expected we’d be at a thrift store trying on clearance clothes instead of this stuffy-ass store, trying to find you a dick appointment outfit.” 

“For the last time, it’s a date, not a dick appointment,” Peter tells her, scrunching his lip up at the jeans and polo shirt combination he’d picked out. 

“I must have ‘stupid’ written on my forehead,” she retorts, dropping her head back on the fitting room wall. 

“No, but you have the space,” he replies and removes the green polo shirt. “Can you hand me another?” 

Michelle flings another polo his way and is ultimately disappointed with that outcome as well. 

“I can’t even figure out why I don’t like it,” he says more to himself than her as he twists and turns, examining his reflection from multiple angles. “Like, it’s a nice shirt. Nice jeans. So why? Uh, this sucks.” 

Peter removes the shirt, places it on it’s hanger and pouts at his reflection. 

“I really don’t think he’s gonna care what you have on,” Michelle mutters, checking her freshly done manicure and then reaching over to poke him in his lower abdomen. “Why are you even stressing about this?” 

“I’m not stressing,” Peter says. “I just, ya know, wanna look nice for him. He’s, like,  _ special _ .” 

“Aw, Peter’s in love,” she sings teasingly but Peter doesn’t take the bait as he selects another shirt to try on that ultimately looks like a burlap sack. 

“The thing is,  _ and don’t make fun of me _ ,” Peter starts and he removes the shirt and designates it to the ‘no’ pile. “We’ve gone on plenty of dates before, ya know? Sometimes just to the store in sweatpants and it’s been fine. I know he’s not gonna care like that, but it’s just, like, I don’t know. We don’t have much time left with each other and I guess I wanna make a lasting impression.” 

Michelle tilts her head thoughtfully and hands him another shirt, this one a button down. “To be honest, I think you already have.” 

“How?” he wonders, attempting to undo the buttons but only ends up fiddling with them and groaning in frustration at how tiny they are. Michelle stands, taking the shirt from him and gracefully undoing them herself. 

“Well, if what you’ve told me about him is true, I’d say he really cares about you. No one just attacks their coworker for attacking you if they didn’t. You just don’t forget a person because the season changes,” she assured him a hands over the open shirt. “Here, loser.” 

Peter considers her words and nods. “I guess you’re right. Like, it makes sense. He’s certainly left an impression on me, so I think it’d be reciprocated.” 

“He’s probably spent hundreds of dollars in the last two months than he has all year on gas to be  with you because you live out in the middle of nowhere with Courage, Muriel, and Eustace and you just  _ think  _ the feelings are reciprocated?” Michelle sounds like she can’t believe it. “You are so dumb.”

“Okay, but we’ve known this for a while now,” Peter agrees and lets her button the shirt up halfway before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Uh, no. Off. This is ugly.” 

After a few more failed shirts, Peter just decides to buy jeans and Michelle shows him a thrift store near the mall. They manage to get nice finds between them including a leather jacket, some shirts and a pair of high-waisted bell bottoms that remind Peter of May before going to lunch at a nearby vegetarian restaurant. After eating, they do another lap around the mall and Michelle’s mom picks them up at a quarter to four. 

“Anybody home?” Peter yells out when as he shuts the front door behind him. 

“In here, kid,” Bucky yells from the den. Peter sets his shopping bags on the floor on his way to the other side of the house. 

Bucky is reclined in his favorite chair, nursing a bottle of water, entranced on the home decorating channel. 

“Getting ideas?” Peter asks as he walks in. 

Bucky doesn’t look away from the television but nods anyway. “When your Dad was going on about what kinda backsplash we should get for the kitchen, I figured I’d do some research. Well, first I didn’t know what a backsplash is but now that I do, I sure am interested,” he tells him. “How was shopping?"

“Good. Michelle says hi. Is Dad still out?” 

“Yeah, he and Stark are having a post-divorce, celebration of marriage type lunch dinner thing.” 

“So, it’s official, huh?” Peter leans on the threshold. 

“Sure is,” Bucky replies, nodding his head and then looking over at Peter. “He sounded pretty broken up about the whole thing when he called me earlier, but he should be okay.” 

Peter nods in agreement. “Yeah, he should, huh?”

Bucky glances over at the boy, frowning at the defeated tone in his voice. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“You gonna be okay?”

Peter hadn't even thought about himself. “Oh, uh, yeah. I mean I’ve been preparing for it all summer and things aren’t gonna be that different, I guess.” 

“Yeah, I guess not,” Bucky agrees and looks back to the television. “Oh, c’mon! Mint green over  _ that _ fireplace? You gotta be kiddin’ me!” 

Peter has a chuckle to himself, grabs his shopping bags from the hall, and heads upstairs. He already took a shower that morning, so he just brushes his teeth, reapplies deodorant, and changes into his new pair of jeans, a burgundy baseball jersey, and black Converse. Despite his confidence, he sprays himself with a bit of cologne and gives himself a once over in the mirror. 

For all he went through trying to find an outfit, Peter figures he looks pretty good. 

Out of his peripherals through the window, he sees Tony’s car pull up the dirt road and park in front of the garage. Peter kneels at the window to watch Steve get out of the passenger seat—clad in a suit with a bouquet of roses in his hand—and meet Tony on the other side to give him an extensive hug. 

They embrace for longer than a minute and it’s bittersweet to see that while they’re cordial, they’re no longer together. Tony pats Steve’s back a few times before they let go and share an intimate exchange. They depart with a friendly kiss on the cheek. 

Of all the times Peter has reared up over the summer, this is the first time he’s done so out of pure happiness.   
  


 

 

 

About half an hour later, Johnny texts Peter that he’s about five minutes away. After talking to his Dad about his day, Peter gathers Johnny’s overnight bag, putting his wallet, keys, and phone charger inside. Whether or not he remembers to pack Johnny’s black hoodie that he’s grown unreasonably attached to is between he and himself. 

As soon as he hears Johnny’s car pulling up, Peter bounces downstairs to greet him. Like clockwork, Steve is answering the door and letting Johnny in when Peter rounds the corner.   As always, he looks like God carved him from marble and sunshine as he shakes Steve’s hand and waves over to Bucky in the living room. The moment their eyes meet, Johnny’s smile glows brighter as his gaze widens keenly and it practically turns Peter to mush. 

“Hey, babe,” Johnny says first,  approaching him with an arm open to take Peter in. Peter wants to explode with emotion, but instead he puts himself around Johnny and lets himself be held. 

This is  _ so nice. _

“Hi,” Peter whispers wistfully. 

“So, remind me again where you guys are going tonight?” Steve says, shutting the door. 

“The carnival, Dad,” Peter answers, leaning into Johnny’s side. “It’s closing this weekend so we wanted to go before it did.” 

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees and squeezes Peter close. “We’re gonna ride roller coasters and eat corn dogs until we puke.” 

“ _ He’ll _ be puking.” Peter emphasizes and slips out of Johnny’s grip. “I’ve got your bag upstairs. I’ll be right back.” 

Before Johnny can respond, Steve steps towards them with his arms crossed over his chest, sporting a cheeky grin and concentrated eyes. “Johnny, do you mind if Bucky and I talk to you for a moment?” 

It’s a command disguised as a question, but Johnny doesn’t even flinch nearly as much as Peter does when he realizes what’s happening. At the sound of his name, Bucky appears in the living room entrance, watching with an amused smirk. 

Peter looks between the three of them and pulls a face. Johnny looks as though he expected it  but is still uncomfortable nonetheless. 

“Uh, guys, c’mon, don’t do this to him,” Peter begs with a hand over his face. “This isn’t, like, nineteen forty-five. No one gives shovel talks anymore.” 

“We’re just gonna talk,” Bucky insists. “No shoveling.” 

“Johnny can handle a little talk,” Steve teases, tapping Johnny’s shoulder as he guides him to the living room. “Right, Johnny?”

“Absolutely. A little talk,” he says, throwing Peter a reassuring look. “It’s okay, babe.” 

Peter grimaces. “Ugh, so embarrassing,” he mumbles on the way upstairs. 

He tries to be as quick as possible with grabbing the duffel bag and his own night clothes for Johnny’s sake. By the time he’s back downstairs, the three of them are laughing at the tail end of the conversation and while Peter is very confused, he’s grateful they didn’t put Johnny through too much of the third degree. 

“You kids have fun!” Bucky calls after them as Peter speed walks to the front door with Johnny close behind. “Oh, but not too much fun. Wouldn’t wa—”

Peter cringes. “I have everything, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning!” he rushes out in one quick breath, tightening his hold on Johnny’s hand. 

“Johnny, remember what I said!” Steve yells after them even when they’re out the door and on the way to Johnny’s car. 

“I will, sir!” Johnny exclaims, waving. Peter rolls his eyes back into his head. 

“I’m sorry if they embarrassed you,” Peter mumbles, tossing the duffel bad in the backseat and then getting in on the passenger’s side. “They are so extra sometimes.” 

“I don’t mind it. They’re good people,” Johnny says as he gets in. “Didn’t wanna be disrespectful, but I wanted to do this so badly.” 

“Do what?” 

Johnny catches Peter’s lips by his, leaving the kiss gentle and polite. Peter smiles within the kiss and turns every shade of red when Johnny leans away to peck his cheek. 

“You look cute tonight,” he utters sweetly. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

“You know I was serious about the roller coasters and puking, right? 

Peter kisses him again. “Unfortunately.” 

  
  
  
  


 

They make it to the carnival at seven on the dot and waste no time getting on rides, playing games, and eating. No roller coasters goes unridden and they attempt to win every prize possible, only getting rewarded a miniature stuffed cow for their troubles. 

After sharing a funnel cake, they get on the Ferris wheel for a change of pace from the fast roller coasters they rode. Once the ride gets rolling, Peter sits back and cuddles in close to Johnny’s chest, watching the sky change color as the sun sets. 

“Have you seen  _ Grease _ ?” Johnny asks out of nowhere. 

“Only a million times.” 

“What would you do if we looked down and there was a big ass flash mob of people singing and dancing to ‘We Go Together’?” 

Peter looks over the edge of their pod and imagines it. “First, I’d be incredibly jealous that I couldn’t join in ‘cus I’m up here,” he replies. “I feel like this is somehow gonna transition into you telling me I’m just like Sandy and you’re Danny.” 

“Yeah, right,” Johnny scoffs. “Sure, I’m drag racing, cool guy Danny Zuko who wears too much black, is obsessed with having a fresh cut, and runs from his feelings while you’re the stubborn out of town hottie who’s got me singing at drive-in movies.” Just as he finishes saying it, Johnny’s eyebrows fly up. “Hey, you know, maybe you’re right.” 

“Shut up, I’m not stubborn,” Peter whines and lightly smacks Johnny’s shoulder. “Sure, the out of town hottie part I can get with, but the stubborn part doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Delusional on top of stubborn,” Johnny jokes and dodges another smack. “No, but, seriously, if I had to assign you to a movie character, you’re Marty McFly through and through.” 

“I’m so not!” Peter protests. “Marty McFly is, like, awkward, kinda weird, talks too much, a little goofy—” He stops to look over at Johnny who looks back with his face scrunched in a way that says,  _ Exactly _ . 

“Uh, fine, if I’m Marty, you’re, like—”

“Danny Zuko,” Johnny finishes for him. “We just went over this.” 

“If we fly off in your car when we leave, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“You’d rather have a time machine car over a car that can fly?” Johnny asks incredulously. 

“What the hell am I gonna do with a flying car when planes literally exist? Time machine car can take you anywhere in the past or to the future, and that’s a little cooler than a car that flies.” 

“I don’t have a reason to go back to the past and the fun in the future is that you don’t know what’s gonna happen,” Johnny reasons, bringing Peter closer to him. “I like the here and now, thank you very much.” 

“You wouldn’t even wanna go back to the day you were born? Just to see what it all looked like?” 

“I’m sure 1998 was a fun time, but I doubt it looks any different than now. And no offense, but 2001 doesn’t seem like it was all that hot either.”

Peter shakes his head in disagreement. “Okay, yeah, fine, but what about, like, seeing Michael Jackson in concert or actually seeing  _ Back to the Future  _ in theaters? That’d be cool.” 

“It sure would but, I don’t know, babe,” he says and looks over at the carnival in wonder. “I think I’d prefer to just live in the moment rather than skip to see how it ends.” 

Every once in a while, Johnny will say something prolific and deep that borderlines corny and inspirational, but Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t like when he does. As in the moment as Peter wants to be, he knows his memory will never do a time like this justice. Johnny looks beautiful, happy, and content in the moment they’re in—with his arm around Peter as they gaze over at the setting sun in the distance while the whimsical carnival music plays over everyone’s laughs and elated screams—and he wants to capture it. 

“This night could last forever if we make it,” Peter adds, holding Johnny’s hand in his. 

“Oh, yeah? How so?” 

The ride ends just as the idea pops in Peter's head and when they climb off, Peter leads them to the middle area of the carnival where he’d seen a photo booth. 

“I’ve never done one of these,” Johnny says, following Peter inside the tiny booth that barely fits the two of them. “This is corny, even for you.” 

Peter tries to get comfortable in his own space but decides sitting in Johnny’s lap is easier. “You’ll enjoy this. I promise.” 

Peter inserts a dollar into the dollar slot and the camera appears on the flashing screen a moment later. The machine starts the counts down from five. 

“Smile!” Peter cheers with his teeth grit into a wide grin, staring up at the camera above the screen as he poses as naturally as he can. Johnny sarcastically puts his middle finger up and Peter breaks out into a genuine laugh at the exact moment the flash goes off. 

“Now a cute one, please,” Peter pleads between a chuckle or two and smiles up at the camera again. 

Johnny complies and smiles too widely for it to not be sarcastic again. The flash goes off and they pose for a silly one with their tongues poked out and Johnny tickles him seconds before the lens captures the picture. 

Peter keeps it simple for the fourth picture and Johnny wraps his arms around his waist, staring up at the boy in his lap like he’s the answer to everything good in the world. 

The flash flashes again and Peter giggles, giving him a confused yet delighted look. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” 

“You’re the closest I’ve ever felt to being in love with someone,” he tells him casually and in that exact moment, Peter’s jaw drops, Johnny pulls him in for a kiss, and the camera takes the last picture. 

Even after the flash has gone off and their pictures have printed, they continue to kiss like there isn’t a whole world outside of the photo booth. Despite the weird angle they’re at and the strain the position puts on Peter’s neck, he doesn’t want to ever leave this booth or kiss another person ever again. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Peter whines, covering his heated face and neck with both hands. “Johnny, I don’t know how to respond to something that deep.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures him, pulling Peter’s hands from his face to garner his reaction. “Babe, I didn’t say it with the hopes of you saying it back or some dumb shit like that. I just wanted you to know.”

“Why?” 

“Because I won’t get the confidence to say it later on,” he whispers, cupping Peter’s face and bringing him forward to press their foreheads together. “And you leave soon and I’m gonna regret not saying anything when you do.” 

At that, it dawns on Peter that they’re running on limited time. Peter is leaving soon and as excited as he is to start a new chapter in his life, he doesn’t want to close all aspects of the one he just started. Some of those aspects include ending what he has with Johnny, but how is he supposed to do that when Johnny practically told him he’s in love with him?

“Do you mean it?”

Johnny nods, pecking Peter delicately along his jaw. “Absolutely.”

A moan slips out of Peter at the feel of Johnny’s lips on him. “ _ Johnny… _ ” 

He is  _ so in love _ , but he’ll never have the courage to say it. Should he even say it? Is it worth it? Would it make any difference? 

Johnny kisses him another handful of times then pulls away to check his phone. “Carnival closes soon. You wanna go somewhere else or—”

“No,” the boy interjects. “No, I’m ready to go back to your place if that’s okay.” 

The pictures come out in black and white, and Peter doesn’t stop staring at them for anything the entire way to Johnny’s apartment. 

 

 

  
  
  
  
Once they’re through the door, Johnny and Peter retreat to Johnny’s bedroom where they strip out of their day clothes and into sweatpants and t-shirts. Johnny starts a load of laundry to wash the clothes in his duffel bag while Peter starts what he can remember of Johnny’s fried chicken and waffles recipe. They cook together in comfortable silence between them while Johnny’s music plays from the TV and when they’re done, they eat in the living room. Even though they’d made too much food and there’s plenty for seconds, Peter picks off of Johnny’s plate anyway.

“I’m full,” Peter complains, rubbing his protruding stomach as he lays off the side of the couch. “You tried to kill me.”

“No one told you to eat my food, too,” Johnny giggles, taking their dishes to the kitchen. “You’re not too full to dance, are you?”

“Huh?” Peter groans and eyes Johnny funnily. “You’re gonna make me dance when I feel like I’m ready to explode?” 

Johnny re-enters the living room and turns the volume on the television up. “Don’t worry,” he says, taking Peter by the wrist and pulling him up and off of the couch. “It’s a slow song, so c’mere.” 

Peter begrudgingly does as he’s told and half-heartedly wraps his arms around Johnny, smiling into his chest when he recognizes the song playing. 

“You like Selena?” Peter asks, throwing his head back to look up at Johnny. 

“I wouldn’t be a real man if I didn’t. I don’t speak much Spanish, but I will sing ‘Como La Flor’ until my heart gives out.” Johnny sets his arms on Peter’s shoulders and hums to the music. 

“... _ Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you… And I wish on a star that somewhere you are thinking of me too…”  _

Peter hums with Johnny and the music, swaying along to the serene guitar and lovestruck lyrics. Johnny attempts to twirl him but he nearly ends up falling on his ass, resulting in Johnny laughing obnoxiously loud like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Wish I could take you to prom next year,” Peter says, stepping from side to side in tune with Johnny. “But you’ll be, like, fifty-seven by the time that happens.” 

“I’m literally only three years older than you.” 

“Three years? God, when does your social security check come in the mail?” 

Johnny pinches Peter’s nipple, making the boy squeal. He smirks to himself and holds Johnny tighter, feeling safe and secure in his huge arms. 

_ “I just want to hold you close...But so far, all I have are dreams of you...So I wait for the day, and the courage to say…How much I love you…”  _

“I watched  _ Selena _ the movie with Ned once and it was the single most saddest time of my life,” Peter confesses, batting his eyelashes up at Johnny. “Such a good movie but so freakin’ sad.” 

“I usually turn it off after the part where she gets the rose thrown at her because after that, I get really emotional.” 

“Rightfully so! Ugh, I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry.”

Peter shakes his head. “How can you not? How do you listen to this song and not cry? Or ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ That rips me apart every time.  _ Titanic _ , as a movie had its issues, but the soundtrack is immaculate.” 

“Oh, shit you're right.” Johnny’s eyes widen in realization. “Ah, don’t get me started on  _ The Bodyguard _ . Definitely had its issues, but ‘I Will Always Love You’ is a song for the ages. The world hasn’t been right since we lost Whitney.” 

“You sound like my parents,” Peter chuckles and wraps his hand securely around his wrist behind Johnny’s back. “This is the saddest song in the world, but it’s so good.” 

“It’s only sad if you think of it in the context of the movie,” Johnny explains. “It’s happy if you think of it as it is recorded. A happy, hopeful love song about getting the guy or girl of your dreams.” 

“Some of us can only be so lucky,” Peter mutters, tightening his grip around Johnny as if the man will slip right through his fingers if he doesn’t. Johnny doesn’t mind it and in fact, squeezes Peter back with just as much passion. 

_ “ _ _ Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you...And I still can't believe.. That you came up to me and said I love you...I love you too!” _

The music swells into a powerful crescendo and the personable lyrics strikes Peter in the chest. It came out of nowhere, but the idea of being in love with Johnny isn’t as wild as it seems. All it took was two months for him to get here, and even though he’s been along for every step of the way, he doesn’t know how he got here. 

Whatever it is that strikes Peter must hit Johnny at the same time because he’s staring down at Peter in the most earnest and vulnerable way. Peter’s face gets hot again. 

“I…” Johnny gulps, cupping Peter’s face safely in his palm. “I’m _so_ in love with you,” he whispers and shakes his head as if the idea is foreign. 

“You are?” Peter squeaks, voice caught in his throat.

“Don’t act so surprised.” 

“Johnny,” Peter sighs, his mind and heart racing at a mile a minute. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

The assurance in those words gives Peter the boost of confidence he needs to reach up and bring Johnny’s face down to his is in a searing, desperate kiss. It’s different from the night’s previous sweet, light-hearted kisses--this kiss is demanding and urgent, like Peter is going to die if he doesn’t get it.

Johnny, although caught of guard, willingly lets himself be manhandled by the teenager, following him wherever he drags Johnny around. Not before long, Peter has hoisted himself atop of Johnny and is being carried down the hall into the bedroom, never once parting their lips. Johnny tastes like the syrup they’d smothered their waffles with and no matter how many times Peter licks into his mouth, the taste keeps running along his tongue. In the midst of kissing Johnny like it’s a necessity, Peter moans into his mouth and grinds the slightest bit against the other man. They’re both already half erect, aroused by just the kissing and the essence of being near each other.

Peter wraps his arms around Johnny’s neck tight, not ready to let go even when Johnny flops them onto the bed. They tumble over each other, laughing as they do all the while still grabbing at one another to be closer. 

That’s all they want—to just be  _ closer _ . 

Peter adjusts himself to be in Johnny’s lap, grinding back and forth as he peppers kisses along the length of Johnny’s face and down to his deck. They get hard at the same time and their barely there inhales of breath turn to loud, wanton moans. 

When Peter’s lips reach Johnny’s collarbone, he removes their shirts and the sensation of Johnny’s chest to his sends a chill down Peter’s spine.  He’s definitely wanted Johnny this way plenty of times, but this might be the actual time either are going to do anything about it. 

Johnny reads Peter’s expression, tentatively rubbing at Peter’s sides with the slightest brushes of his fingers against smooth, warm skin. 

“What do you wanna do?” Johnny mutters between them, his voice low and cautious like talking too loud will startle the mood. 

Peter bashfully looks away, but Johnny doesn’t allow it and grabs Peter’s chin to force eye contact. 

“What do you wanna do?” he asks again.

Peter shrugs, running his nails down Johnny’s chest. “Whatever you wanna do.”

“I wanna do everything with you.” 

Another chill goes along Peter’s spine before it reaches his arms and legs in a cold hurry. 

“Then let’s do everything.”

 

 

\--   
  


 

And everything is exactly what they do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you guys ask, it's open to your own personal interpretation as to what "everything" is. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> tumblr - karenthesuitlady


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a minute. I know. Don’t kill me. Am I gonna cry? I might. Is that anyone’s business? It sure isn’t! 
> 
> This is officially the last chapter of the story which is why it’s a bit shorter than all the others, but I trust you guys will like the epilogue. I hope to have that up soon.
> 
> I wanna say I love HalcyonSeasons for being loyal and helping me with the greatest piece of fanfiction I’ve ever written. She real for that. Enjoy!

Of all things to wake Peter up from his sleep at nearly three in the morning, Whitney Houston is the last thing he’d imagine. 

Johnny’s music playing on the television is significantly louder than earlier, so much so that Peter in his half-awake state mumbles along to the lyrics of “I Will Always Love You.” It’s when he reaches over to pull Johnny in and grasps at just the pillow does he fully wake, sit up, and look around the dark room. Johnny is nowhere in sight. 

Peter takes his phone off of the charger and shines the flashlight on the floor to gather what he can see of their carelessly flung clothes. He puts on what he thinks is Johnny’s shirt and his sweatpants and follows the music down the hall into the living room.

Just as Peter assumed, Johnny is curled up in a blanket on the sofa, staring contemplatively into the dark room. From where Peter is standing at the entrance, he can see Johnny’s cheeks are wet and the unshed tears in his eyes shine against the dim illumination of the television. 

Peter could play stupid and act like he doesn’t know why Johnny separated himself to cry after what they just did, but instead, he steadily approaches the sofa and stands before Johnny. 

The man looks up at him and doesn’t even bother wiping his face. Peter smiles down at him and chuckles. 

“The last time I saw someone crying in a room by themselves listening to Whitney Houston was May when she died,” he recalls, inserting himself on Johnny’s lap under the blanket.

Johnny chuckles too, shuffling around so that Peter can sit comfortably. “Sue did that too.”

“I guess it runs in the family.” Peter wipes a stray fallen tear from Johnny’s cheek. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s not you or anything. I just, uh, I don’t know. Been a weird night.” 

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“I mean, it’s been a good night. Don’t get me wrong.” Johnny sniffles. “And I guess that’s what has me all out of it.” 

“What do you mean?”

Johnny scoffs and wipes his hand down his face. “We had a lot of good nights this summer.” 

“Yeah, we did.” 

“And before when we’d go out and have a good night, we’d be okay with leaving each other when I dropped you off ‘cus we knew we’d see each other literally the next day,” Johnny continues. “Tonight doesn’t feel like one of those nights. It was a good night. Too good. Like, to the point where I don’t want it to end and I don’t want you to leave next week.” 

“But I do have to go at some point,” Peter whispers, running his fingers over Johnny's. “We knew I wasn’t gonna stay here forever.” 

“I know.” Johnny nods in understanding and meets Peter’s eyes in the dark. “This—what I’m feeling right now—is what I was trying to avoid when I ghosted.” 

Peter momentarily breaks eye contact to stare down at their hands. “Yeah?” he mumbles and then looks back up at his lover. “And what are you feeling right now?”  

“You know when you fall down or something and you have that split second of empty disbelief and realization before the pain kicks in? Kinda like that.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Peter tries to joke, but it falls flat because he knows exactly what Johnny is talking about. 

Johnny shrugs. “It’s true, though. This shit is about to hurt so bad, but I can’t find it in me to regret any of it. You?” 

Peter shakes his head and brings Johnny’s hand to his mouth to kiss. “I guess I’m just thinking about what’ll happen to us when I go. I mean, we’ll move on or whatever, but it’s gonna suck for a while.” 

Johnny cocks his head sideways. “Move on?”

“I mean, ya know.” 

“I don’t.”

Peter makes a confused noise and sits up straighter. “Ya know when I leave, we won’t be together everyday and over time, we’ll just kinda…” The sentence trails off as Peter makes a waving motion with his hands to indicate what he means.

“Kinda what?” 

“You’re gonna make me say it?” 

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say.” 

“C’mon, Johnny, it’s not gonna be the same when I leave, so I figured we just do our own things when we’re ready. Like, you’ll date or whatever and I’ll—”

“Hold up,” Johnny interrupts, sitting up now too as he reaches over to turn on the end table lamp. Light floods the room, revealing Johnny’s red, puffy eyes and tear streaks stained cheeks. 

“You really think I’m gonna just go do my own thing, whatever  _ that _ means, when you leave?” Johnny asks, eyeing Peter carefully to see if he’s joking. “Is that what you think?” 

“It’s what I know,” Peter responds. 

“Clearly you don’t know much,” Johnny mumbles, crossing his arms and detaching himself from Peter. 

“Johnny, c’mon, don’t pick a fight where there isn’t one.” 

“I’m not picking a fight,” he insists, despite very clearly picking a fight. “I just think it’s a bit baffling that you’d say some shit like that after I told you I love you.”

Peter sighs. “It’s not  _ that _ out of the box.” 

“Are you serious?” Johnny’s eyes widen. “What makes you believe I’d even think about getting with someone else when you leave? Is that what you wanna do?”

“I want us to be okay.” 

“I thought we were,” Johnny mutters defeatedly as he rises from the couch. “I thought we’d be on the same page with this, but I guess we're not.” 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Peter pleads, hands up as he watches Johnny pace around the living room. “Why are you getting so mad about this?” 

“I’m not mad, I’m just amazed at how smart and dumb you can be at the same time,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. 

“Dumb about what?”

“How I wanna be with you exclusively even after you leave. I don’t want us to just be some summer fling or occasional hookup whenever you visit,” Johnny confesses, laughing without humor. “It’s weird admitting it but I love your ass and I know my dumbass isn’t gonna be okay when you’re outta here. Moving on is very out of the question.”

Peter gulps; this is just what he wants to avoid. Johnny wants to pursue long distance when Peter is absolutely certain neither of them can. 

“But, like,” he sighs in frustration. “Why? Why do you wanna be with  _ me _ ? I’ve asked myself that everyday since meeting you at Shuri’s and, like, I just don’t get it.” 

Johnny appears offended at first then he switches to earnest. “Peter, what are you talkin ‘bout?”

“It’s just doesn’t make sense,” Peter grumps, untangling himself from the blanket and sitting up but he keeps his head down to avoid looking at Johnny’s eyes on him. “You and I  _ don’t _ make sense. I love you how you love me and it’s great, but I just don’t see how we’ll work. I can’t figure out why you wanna waste more time with me when, I’m, like, ya know.” 

“Actually, I don’t know.” Johnny stops pacing and stands before Peter. “Why do you love me?” 

Peter’s cheeks burn. “Well, you’re you,” he admits shyly, chin ducked down until Johnny lifts his head with two fingers. “You’re insanely funny, honest, kinda sensitive, ya know? I didn’t know what I wanted in somebody until I got to know you.” 

Peter tries to look away from Johnny’s soft, brown eyes but he can’t seem to even if the intimacy of it all makes him squeamish. 

“You forgot incredible handsome,” Johnny adds with a snicker and Peter rolls his eyes in mock-annoyance. 

“Yeah, you’re cute, I guess.” 

“Ah, so are you.” Johnny runs his thumb over Peter’s cheek. “Cute as hell, wicked smart, never knows when to be quiet, stubborn, and gets an attitude when we disagree over what we should get to eat, but you know what? I love it. I love those things about you, I would love to make sense of why I do or why I wanna keep doing this with you, but I just do. And that’s all that should matter, shouldn’t it?” 

It should, but Peter being the logical person he is, he needs a straight answer. There’s no reasoning, so should he believe Johnny? He doesn’t want to feel doubt about this even though he knows Johnny is right, but it’s incredibly hard not to.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter says quietly. “I mean, I’ve thought about it and it just doesn’t seem like it’ll work.”

“How?”

“You’re telling me that you’re willing to do things long distance? With me? Like, me?”

“Why is this such a wild concept to you?” Johnny places his hands on his hips as he peers down at Peter. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Peter grimaces, shaking his head. “I’m not worth all of that. I know it’s gonna be hard when I go, but it’s just something we’re gonna have to get through. We shouldn’t drag it out unnecessarily.”

Johnny’s face falls, his eyes drift off sideways, and he takes a couple steps away from Peter. “Babe, if you don’t want to be with me—” 

“Oh, God, no.” Peter stands from his spot on the couch to wrap his arms around Johnny’s torso. “It’s not a matter of me  _ not _ wanting you. It’s just that—” Peter presses himself into Johnny's back. “I know myself and I know how much I need this—holding you. I’m not gonna be okay if I can’t do this.” 

Johnny turns in Peter’s arms to encase the smaller boy to his chest. “And like you said, it’s something we have to get through if we really want each other. I got no idea what the hell I’m doing or how this is supposed to work, but I know I want to be with you.” 

Peter squeezes around him, committing to how the man feels to memory. “You’re so corny, oh God.” 

“Yeah, being around you has made me a softie.” 

“You were always a softie,” Peter mutters, muffled by Johnny’s stomach.  

They silently stand like that for a few minutes, taking in each other’s scents, feel, and presence as though it could be the last time. That mix of trees, gasoline, and his favorite cologne trigger something in Peter. Tears pool in his eyes, but he ignores them. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asks to avoid crying. 

Johnny shrugs. “We can try this out,” he suggests. “Just try it and see where we go. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to, but just trying it will make us feel better, I think.” 

Trying could bring along a lot Peter isn’t sure he’s ready for, but for some reason, he wants to risk it all for this strange bundle of nerves—that could best be described as love—intensifying in the pit of his stomach. 

“I think so, too,” Peter agrees after a moment. “I wanna try.”

Johnny pulls back enough to cup Peter’s face in his palms and pecks along his forehead and over his hairline. “So, we’re doing this, huh?” 

Peter sighs and leans back just enough to capture Johnny’s lips in an impatient kiss. “I guess we are,” he says as they pull away. “Are you okay? Like, are you gonna cry again?” 

“No, I’m alright.” Johnny reaches over to turn out the lamp, nods his head down the hall and takes Peter’s hand in his own. “Let’s go back to bed. Only got a few hours left until I gotta give you back.” 

Peter follows behind, smirking at Johnny’s back with a giddy swish in his step. “Hey, um, do you think we could, uh,” he stammers, too excited to articulate himself properly. “Ya know,” he giggles, eyes twinkling up at his lover. “Again?” 

Johnny turns on his heels to regard him with a smirk of his own. “Oh, you want more, huh?” 

Peter’s insides melt. Instead of using his words—because he will definitely say something downright lewd if he opens his mouth—he nods with his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You gonna wear me out.” Johnny catches Peter by surprise, heaving the boy over his shoulder and carrying him back to the bedroom. Peter squeals, pretending to try and escape while Johnny playfully spanks his behind. 

  
  
\- -  
  


Because Peggy is the best aunt ever, she schedules Peter’s last day at the diner with Michelle. It’s pretty busy for one in the afternoon at the beginning of September, but Peter doesn’t care because everyone is being nice and he has something to do at every turn. In the two hours he’s been here, he’s already reloaded the dishwasher three times and cleaned up a number of spills, but given the mood he’s in, he can’t find room to be annoyed. 

He, Steve, and Bucky have packed all they need for the move in three days. They leave the day after Labor Day and Peter starts school a week later. After an amicable discussion between himself, his parents, and May, the four of them decided that Peter should stay with her until all of Peter’s bedroom furniture comes in and Harley starts to sleep through the night—so not to distract Peter as he begins his senior year. 

“What are you smiling about now, weirdo?” Michelle teases with a poke to his side as she breezes by him in the kitchen. 

Peter blinks back to life and grins at her. “Hmm?” 

“You’re doing that weird thing where you doze out and just smile like you got away with murder,” she says, retrieving a plastic cup to fill with ice and chew on. It’s one of the hottest days of the summer. 

“You shouldn’t joke about murder, Michelle. I was murdered once and it offends me,” he says sarcastically. 

“Whatever. Fine. Don’t tell me,” she scoffs, tossing a cube of ice around in her mouth. “You get one little boyfriend and all of a sudden, you can’t tell your favorite person in the whole world anything.” 

“Ned already knows everything,” he replies and inverts his lips into his mouth when she rolls her eyes back into her head. “Oh, you meant you.”

Michelle gives him a once over and smirks sideways. “Can’t say I’m not gonna miss having your dumbass around to make me look smarter.” 

Peter waves her off and shakes his head. “Oh, c’mon, Michelle. No lovey-dovey goodbyes until after the cookout. I haven’t left yet, alright, you still have a couple more days with me.” 

“Fine,” she agrees begrudgingly and passes her cup over to him. “You wanna go swimming when we get off?” 

Peter chomps down on a couple of ice cubes before answering. “I can later. I’m going out with my Dad after work.” 

One of her thick eyebrows quirks upward. “Sounds… fun.” 

“We’re going to a jeweler,” he clarifies and passes the cup back to her. “He bought a ring for Bucky a while ago and decided to get it engraved last minute.” 

“A ring like—?” Michelle holds up her left hand and wiggles the ring finger with a suggestive whistle. 

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically. “I actually wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I’m just too excited for them. Ugh, man, leave it to my weird ass parents to start the year married to each other and end it married or engaged to someone else.” 

“Does anybody else know?” 

“Pretty much everyone  _ but _ Bucky.” 

“You think he’ll say yes?” 

Peter snorts. “Bucky has waited nearly twenty-seven years for this moment, so my bet is that he will.” 

At that moment, one of the chefs calls out an order for one of Michelle’s tables and the two of them get back to work. 

  
  
  
  


 

By the time five in the afternoon rolls around, Peter and Michelle are due to clock out. She does so before him and before Peter can type his employee number into the system, Peggy appears from the back. 

“Darling, do you mind if I see you for a moment?” she asks, referring to Peter then looks over at Michelle waiting for him at the door. “We won’t be long, M.” 

“Yeah, of course,” the boy says with a nod as he clocks out and makes his way over to her. “What’s up.” 

“I know I’ll see you Labor Day,” she begins, folding her hands over his delicately. “But I feel like I should say this now.” 

“If this is a goodbye, Aunt Peggy, I’ll have to pretend I don’t hear it,” he jokes, swaying their hands back and forth. 

She smiles back at him with a hint of love in her wide, brown eyes. “Just indulge me,” she reasons. “It’s meant a lot to me that you spent the summer up here with us. It’s good to know that Steve and Tony’s boy is doing okay.”

Peter blushes. “Thanks, Peggy.” 

“And whether you decide to come back next year, you always have a place to come work. You know that, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Peter almost expects tears to start forming in her eyes by the way she’s looking up at him, but instead, she sniffles and pats his cheek. “Make sure to tell your father he can’t just keep you away for sixteen years at a time anymore.” 

“I will.” 

She kisses their joined hands, leaving a faint trace of red lipstick on his knuckles. “My god,” she groans, bringing him in for a hug. “You’re going to be okay.”

Peter dips down to hug her back and smiles into her neck. 

He believes her. 

  
  
\- -   
  
  


Even though the Labor Day cookout at the house is more low profile than Fourth of July, Peter doesn’t want to miss a moment. 

The extent of his filming experience is using his phone to record himself doing backflips, but carrying around a handheld camcorder isn’t much different. There’s nothing eventful about Sam not allowing anyone to touch the grille—even when Steve offer to help multiple times—Bucky and Peggy playing a game of chess on the patio, and Peter’s work friends playing water sports in the lake, but he films everything. 

“Do I look good in this light?” Shuri asks, posing under the shade of a tall tree. Peter grins behind the camera, zooming in on her comical attempt at looking sexy.

“Oh my god, wig,” he says and zooms the shot out. “So skinny.” 

“What are you even filming for?” she wonders, ripping her sunglasses to look passed the lens at him. 

“It’s my last couple of days here and I wanted to get a word from everyone for, like, a little video diary thing.”

Shuri pouts empathetically. “ _ Aw _ , Queens.” 

“Okay, don’t get all mushy just ‘cus the camera’s on,” he chuckles, focusing the frame to get a better look of Shuri’s face. “Just, uh, ya know, say something nice.”

She pretends to think about it, humming in deliberation as she eyes the camera. “What can I say about my dear friend Peter?” 

“Oh, jeez.” 

“It’s been a cool summer with you around,” she admits with no hesitation. “I’m gonna miss you, but I’ll see you on the holidays since I suppose we’re technically family.” 

“Shuri, that’s actually really sweet.”

She rolls her eyes, fighting back a small smile. “Can you edit this in a way where I still come off as a spiritual gangster?” 

“I’ll try.”   
  
  
  


 

“What, you shooting porn or something?” 

“Uncle Sam,” Peter groans behind the camera and Sam chuckles at his own joke as he shuts the top of the grille.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “What was the question?”

“Just say something nice for this video I’m putting together.”

Sam looks off past the camera and shrugs. “Nice about what?” 

“Anything!”

“Hmmm…” he hums and looks back into the lens. “It’s entirely too hot and disrespectful to be out here grilling this food, but if I don’t, your father will and no one wants that.”

“What’s nice about that?” 

“You didn’t hear me? I just implied no one will have to eat your Dad’s horrendously grilled food. That’s not nice to you?” 

Peter rolls his eyes but laughs anyway. “Anything else?” 

Sam adjusts his sunglasses and smirks. “Except that I'm the coolest uncle ever? Nah.”

  
  
  
  


“Video diary, huh? I’ve done a few of these before,” Peggy dotingly says after swallowing a piece of fruit from her salad. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just something nice for when I get home and need something good to hear.” 

Peggy flashes a bright smiles at the lens. “That’s incredibly sentimental.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” 

She shakes her head, ponytail swishes as she does. “It’s quite sweet.” She adjusts herself to face the camera fully. “My goodness, something nice for when you go home,” she repeats to herself. “Well, darling, all I can say is that you’ve come up on a very important time in your life and I couldn’t be prouder with how you’re handling it. You’re gonna kick this school year’s arse.”

Peter’s cheeks burn, but he manages to keep his cool as to not fall into her arms for a hug. 

“You mean that?” 

Before Peggy can respond, Sam jumps into the shot. “I second that!” he exclaims, pointing at the lens. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” 

Off camera, Shuri grimaces and mumbles, “That’s not how that meme works.” 

 

“We’re gonna miss you, Peter,” Gwen tells the camera. Her face momentarily droops sadly but a bittersweet grin forms a second after. “ _ I’m _ gonna miss you,” she adds and Peter catches a few more seconds of her wading in the murky water before Cindy calls her over to the other side of the lake. 

  
  
  
  


“You’re really gonna make me do this?” 

“Could you  _ please _ ? It’s for a video.”

“What are you, like, a Jake Paul now?” Bucky grunts and Peter zooms in on the man’s profile as he deals cards to Johnny and Dugan across from him. 

“ _ How _ do you know who that is?” Peter asks, unsure of whether to be astonished or disgusted. 

“Mind your business,” he says, playfully pushing Peter away. “God, kid, what do you want me to say?” 

“Just say something nice about your experiences this summer.” 

Bucky exhales heavily and examines his hand. “Aside from the influx of emotions and drama that comes with being with Steve Rogers, I had a solid time,” he deadpans. 

“Hilarious.” Steve appears at the sliding door and approaches the table. “Absolutely hilarious.” 

Peter captures what would be a private look between the two of them before Steve sits down at the table and claps his hands. “Deal me in.” 

  
  
  
  


Much to Peter’s surprises, Michelle doesn’t object to being featured in his video diary. Her only exception is that they separate themselves from the party for her to do so. 

There in the middle of the den with her hair done up in space buns like Shuri’s and a knowing twinkle in her lively eyes, she exhales dramatically and looks directly into the lens as she speaks. 

“Summer with you didn't completely suck,” she admits. “If I’d known that the day we met that you’d turn out to be one of my best friends, I would’ve been a lot meaner to you.” 

“Y-you think of us as best friends?” he whispers as though the camera won’t pick up the audio. “Wait, one of? Who else—“ 

“My mom,” Michelle says as though it’s obvious. “And don’t get all excited, but yes, I think of us as best friends.” 

“I never thought I’d get the upgrade.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes. “I mean consistency is key and you consistently lingered around me, so I figured I might as well get to know your dumb ass.” 

“And what did you learn?”

She takes a moment to think with a finger to her chin. “Well, you’re one big, bisexual mess. You talk too much, you’re a weirdo, you’re dramatic.” She pauses and makes a funny face. “But I suppose if you weren’t any of those things, you wouldn’t be the really amazing guy that you are.” 

Peter lowers the camera to look at her directly. “You mean that?” 

“Oh, God, are you gonna cry?” 

“N-no,” he mutters and rubs behind his neck. “It’s just that I didn’t expect you to say something so nice.” 

“I  _ do _ have a heart, you know!” 

Peter lifts the camera back up to eye level. “Michelle, even though I had to look in your wallet to find out your middle name and birthday, you’re more of an open book than you choose to let on.” 

One of her thick eyebrows lifts. “Oh, so now this is about me?” 

“Uh, no, I just wanted to let you know that deep down beyond all the witchcraft and fake deep antisocial attitude, I think you’re a real softie. But you’re just as amazing.”

Michelle scoffs. “Thanks. I’ll be able to sleep like a baby tonight knowing you think I’m amazing, even though I already knew I was.” 

Admiration blooms within Peter and he can’t help grinning dopily while hearts form in his eyes. “I love you.”

She can’t help herself; the facade falls and she doesn’t seem to care that Peter catches her genuinely pleased reaction on film. 

“I love you, too, Peter.”

  
  
  
  


Johnny, as confident and cocky as he is, turns to a bundle of anxious nerves the moment Peter gets the camera on him and asks him to talk about feelings. 

“Just say what you normally say to me,” Peter encourages and Johnny makes a reluctant sound, leaning against the kitchen archway. 

“Yeah, but that’s when it’s just us.” 

“I’m not showing this footage to anybody,” he insists, adjusting the angle to capture Johnny’s minor expressions. “And besides, we’re alone anyway.” 

Johnny straightens his posture and darts eye contact with the lens even with it right in his face. “Goddamn,” he mutters, rubbing his chin contemplatively. “Well, you know I love you. Not to make shit corny, but I’m really gonna miss you and—” 

“Don’t say goodbye,” Peter interrupts. “This is supposed to be cute.” 

Johnny nods and nervously rubs along his arm. “You’ve given me the time of my life. I really thought this was gonna be one them easy ass summers where nothing happens, but all it took was for your cute ass to pop in and shake the table.”

“You think I’m cute?” 

 

“Don’t let it inflate your ego.” Johnny waves at the air. “You’re like puppies-in-a-box-labeled-‘take one-’cute, but it ain’t much after that.” 

“That’s no way to talk to the love of your life,” Peter scoffs in feigned offense. “Besides, if anybody here is cute, it’s you. I don’t know what kinda cute, but it’s my favorite kind. 

Johnny shudders, unable to stop the laugh that rattles his chest. “You so damn corny,” he says and shakes his head. “C’mere.” 

The camera doesn’t catch the visual of Johnny shoving his tongue down Peter’s throat, but the audio is enough for any regular person to imagine.

  
  
  
  


“Are you nervous?” 

Peter zooms the camera in on his Dad’s flushed face as Steve runs a hand through his hair and fidgets with the ring in his pocket. 

“I’ve never proposed to someone before,” Steve says, looking out the screen door at the guests gathering around the patio just subtly enough so that Bucky isn’t suspicious. Everyone but him knows about the proposal and under Steve’s strict instruction, no one has said anything. 

“Yeah, but you’ve been proposed to,” Peter reminds him. “It’s not much different. You’re just on the other side. It’s not like he’s gonna say no.” 

“Yeah, but it’s a little nerve wracking.” 

Peter zooms the frame out and redirects the shot to face outside. “C’mon, Dad, you’re with family and friends. Nothing to be worried about.” 

Steve nods and takes the ring from his pocket to stare at it; It’s a simple, silver band with Steve and Bucky’s initials engraved on the inside.

“You think he’ll like it?”

Peter aims the camera back up at Steve’s now hopeful face. 

“I mean, if he doesn’t, you guys can always get another one.”

“Good point,” Steve agrees and looks into the lens. “That thing rolling?” 

“Yeah.” 

Steve inhales and exhales sharply and puts the ring back in its box and into his pocket. The sweat forming on his forehead is somehow not attributed to the immense heat of the September day.

Steve and Peter walk out onto the patio and Peter catches how alert everyone becomes as his Dad approaches Bucky at the picnic table. Completely oblivious, he doesn’t even notice Steve standing over him and deals another hand to Johnny who is looking directly into the camera like an episode of  _ The Office.  _ Sam turns the music down on the Bluetooth speaker, Peggy takes her phone out to film at a different angle, and Peter’s friends stand behind him to watch on his camera lens. 

As nonchalant as though asking about the weather, Steve taps Bucky’s shoulder and turns every shade of red when Bucky turns and glances up at him. 

“Hey, you wanna get in next round? I’m whoopin’ Johnny’s ass and he’s bet enough to help us pay off the house,” Bucky jokes, shuffling his hand with a mischievous smile. 

Steve returns the smile and shakes his head. “Uh, how about a wedding instead?”

Bucky snorts before what Steve said settles in. He pauses, puts his cards down and then stares up at his boyfriend. 

“Huh?” he says, unbeknownst to everyone watching and listening. 

Steve gulps loudly and lowers himself to one knee. Bucky’s eyes track Steve’s every move from him kneeling, pulling the ring box out, and presenting the jewelry with great focus and utter disbelief. A few people gasp when Steve opens the box, the shiny black ring on full display. 

Bucky’s widened eyes flit between Steve’s face to the ring, lips parted slightly and hands shaking. 

“I don’t wanna spend another day not being your husband,” Steve declares proudly. “I love you. Will you marry me?”   

There’s a split second of silence where Bucky continues to stare down at Steve, looking like he’s calculating everything and trying to make sense of what’s happening. After a few more moments, Bucky covers his wobbly smile behind a shaky hand and tears rapidly begin to build up in his eyes. Unable to contain himself further, he stands from the picnic table and pulls Steve up by his collar to embrace the other man, fully sobbing in the most un-Bucky-like fashion imaginable. 

Beaming from ear to ear, Steve rubs his back in loving small circles, whispering something in Bucky’s ear too low for the camcorder to pick up, and Bucky nods his head into Steve’s neck. 

“He said yes!” Steve exclaims and a chorus of applause and “awws” from their family and friends follows. Peter, in the midst of his own cheers of happiness, zooms in on Bucky’s face when he pulls away and catches another private moment. 

Bucky’s face is wet and vulnerable in expression when he mouths what looks like “ _ Are you sure _ ?” Steve nods in return and slides the band onto Bucky’s left ring finger. 

Later when Peter shows Bucky the footage, instead of being embarrassed with himself like Peter would think, Bucky proudly watches the proposal and gives a lighthearted chuckle at himself breaking down.

  
  
  


That night after everyone has left and the backyard is clean, Peter and Johnny lay on the dock and stargaze, exchanging few words so to preserve the blissfulness of their last night together. 

  
  
\- -

  
  
In the early morning hours on moving day, Bucky leaves with his truck and luggage while Peter and Steve stay back in Ithaca to finish packing and load up a U-Haul. As weird as Peter feels moving things out of this house for good after staying here for such a while, he’s excited nonetheless. Granted, he misses everyone already, but he’ll work through it as best he can.

“Buddy, you mind doing a walkthrough and making sure we got everything?” Steve asks Peter as he surveys the back of the half-full moving truck. 

Peter hops out the back and re-enters the lake house, searching around for things they might have missed. They cleaned the kitchen out first and then moved Bucky’s office furniture, as well as some of Steve’s paintings and ads he’s done over the past few years. What’s left of the house is just Grandpa Joe’s furniture and it wasn’t until they removed what was theirs did Peter notice just how home-like this space really was. 

Just for sentimental reasons, Peter takes the yellow blanket from the sofa and tosses it in the back of the truck. 

  
  
  
  


_ We’re outside.  _

_ Omw out.  _

Peter, being the paranoid person he is, can’t help thinking Bucky  _ purposely _ left a few things at the hardware store for Steve to pick up at the same time Johnny is working so that they can have a final goodbye, but thinking about it too much makes his head hurt. Of course, he could be projecting what he feels versus what is reality, but either way, he gets to see Johnny just one last time before he and Steve hit the road for good. 

“I’ll be back,” Steve says as he gets out of the driver’s side and approaches the store. Johnny is already coming out and they share a look and a goodbye of their own before parting ways. 

Peter gets out the passenger’s side and without a word, he and Johnny have a silent conversation with shy glances and awkward body language that leads to a very tight and emotional embrace.

They both knows that what follows after letting go, so they make it a point to to prolong the hug as long as possible. Peter buries himself in Johnny’s chest, holding both hands around Johnny’s waist like he’s done what feels like a million times before. Johnny wraps both arms around Peter's shoulders, encasing him in the most affectionate form of safety Johnny knows. Without having to say it out loud, they express everything with just a few squeezes and shaky exhales as they remained wrapped around each other.

_ I love you. _

_ I love you, too. _

_ I’ll miss you. _

_ I’ll miss you, too. _

_ Then don’t go. _

_ You know I have to.  _

It feels like forever until Steve exits the store with a few of Bucky’s belongings, puts them in the back of the truck, and patiently waits in the driver’s seat. 

Neither recalls who pulls away first, but when they do, they look each other over as if to commit what the other looks like to memory. They’ll most likely be FaceTiming in a few hours anyway, but when they might experience physically seeing each other again is still undetermined. 

Johnny cups Peter’s face, eyelids drooping as he leans in for a kiss. Peter hesitates and puts a halting hand to Johnny’s chest. 

“In front of my Dad?” he squeaks, burning all over from sheer embarrassment and flattery. 

“Hell yeah, in front of your Dad,” Johnny mumbles with a devilish smirk as he plants a big, wet kiss on Peter’s lips. Peter kisses back just as vehemently, suddenly uncaring that his Dad is a few mere feet away. 

After another moment, they end the kiss and laugh between them at nothing in particular. Peter glances over at the truck and Steve is pretending not to watch, exaggeratedly scrolling on his phone.

“Well,” Peter says, jerking a thumb behind him. “I’m this way.” 

Johnny nods to the side. “That way.” 

They untangle themselves and resistantly inch farther and farther apart. 

“Call me when you get to your aunt’s.” 

“I will.”

The process of getting back in the truck takes longer than necessary, but it happens eventually. Peter never tears his gaze away from Johnny even when Steve asks if he’s okay and begins to back out of the parking spot. 

Johnny’s frame becomes smaller and smaller every second.

When Steve turns the truck around and begins to drive down the road, Peter twists himself about in his seat to see what he can of Johnny until the man is merely a dot among the rest of the shopping center. 

When Peter turns back around and settles in his seat, it hits him and it hits him  _ hard _ . 

Despite his best efforts, a tear or two leak from his eyes, and Steve puts a reassuring hand on the back of his neck. 

  
  
\- -  
  
  


They arrive in Queens about five hours later and the first thing Peter wants is one of Mr. Delmar’s sandwiches. He would also like to take another nap, but before doing so, he helps Bucky and Steve unpack the truck, rearrange furniture, and put the kitchen together. Everything looks and feels out of place considering how new, empty, and bland the house is, but soon enough they’ll be character and Pete knows he’s blessed to be apart of it. 

After eating and unpacking, Steve takes Peter to May’s house and they discuss how long Peter will be staying. In the middle of the discussion, Peter sneaks upstairs to lay down and think about everything that’s happened over the last three months. 

“Jeez,” he huffs to himself as he plops down on the mattress. 

It’s a lot for one kid to take, and he’s impressed that he got through any of it. Not everything was dramatic and heartbreaking, but the moments that were might stick around for some time. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t feel like crying again, so he just stares up at the ceiling for about an hour until drifting off to sleep. 

  
  
  
  


The ring of his cell phone jerks him awake later on and he lets out a giddy sound when he sees Ned’s caller ID. 

“You really weren’t gonna tell me you’re home!” his best friend exclaims. Peter wipes his face from the crust collecting in the inner corner of his eyes and sits up.

“I was napping, man,” Peter grumbles. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Spill about the move! What’s the house look like? Wait, what about Johnny? Oh my god, did you guys have sex again before you left or was it too weird? Oh my God, what about Michelle? Did you tell her? Where—?” 

“Ned, I just got home. Can’t I just have a moment to breathe?” he groans with a playful grin. 

Ned pretends to think about it and shakes his head. “No!” he yelps. “You’ve had, like, three hours to nap and it’s time to tell me all your business.” 

“How’d you even know I’m home?” 

“May and I have talked a lot while you were away.”

“Why do you say that as if I went to jail or something?” 

Ned rolls his eyes and brings the phone camera close to his face. “Quit stalling on the real shit and gimme the deets, bro!”

Peter cheekily smiles at his phone and decides to stop delaying. “Okay,  _ fine… _ ” 

As Peter tells his best friend everything that’s happened, it dawns on him that what was supposed to be the best summer of his life turned out to be more than just that.

For the first time since his parents told him about the divorce, he doesn't wonder or worry about what will happen next. 

_ Finally _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr - karenthesuitlady


	22. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...here we are. The end of the line. I’m gonna cry. I’m sorry it took so long to get here but I guess it had to happen eventually. Thank you all for reading and commenting! I would die for HalcyonSeasons.

**SEPTEMBER**

If there’s one thing Peter learned from Tony, it’s that first impressions mean everything.

The first day of school is important and Peter takes it to heart when he gets up earlier than necessary to shower, shave, exfoliate, and meditate before putting on the outfit Ned says makes him look like a smoke show. He’s already gotten his hair cut and his nails manicured—Michelle’s suggestion—a couple of days prior, so to say he feels just as good as he looks would be an understatement.

May drops him off at Midtown on her way to work and despite the dreary chill from the rain, his mood is sunshine bright.

Peter ducks and dodges frantic students passing by like second nature on his way to the administration office. He’s already gotten his class schedule, but Ned suggested they signed up for Midtown’s buddy-buddy program for new students. It’s an effective system of current students being shadowed by new ones that would’ve helped a lot when Peter was a freshman.

“What if I get paired with one of those weird freshmen who Naruto run through the hallway and scream about having God and anime on their side?” Ned wonders aloud as he, Peter, and a handful of other seniors wait in the front office.

Peter side eyes him. “Ned, _we_ Naruto ran through the hallway all the time freshman year.”

Ned shakes his head. “Yeah, but we were cool about it.”

“Well, if you do get paired with one of those, you can just let them know it gets better,” Peter scoffs with a laugh.

A couple of minutes pass and the principal, Mr. Morita, enters the administration lobby followed by a herd of kids no older than thirteen or fourteen. They all have that scared yet curious freshman look to them in the way they stare back at the seniors as if they’re waiting to be eaten alive. It’s quite precious. Peter doesn’t even wonder if he looked like that when he first got here because he knows he did.

“You all already know the standard when it comes to representing Midtown,” Mr. Morita says and then gestures to the students behind him with a friendly smile. “Please make our new Tigers feel welcome! Mrs. Brant?”

The guidance counselor, Mrs. Brant, appears from around the corner with a stack of papers on a clipboard in hand that are assumed to be each freshman’s schedules. She stands before the large group, looking everyone over with hawk sharp vision and a tilted grin. She begins to rattle off names with classes and instructions about meeting up at certain times, and the room clears out fairly quickly.

The room is nearly empty by the time Ned gets paired with a cute red-headed, freckle-faced girl named Mary Jane, leaving just Peter, Mrs. Brant, and Principal Morita.

Mrs. Brant looks over the roster, just as perplexed as Peter. “Hmmm,” she hums, flipping through the papers on her clipboard. “I’m sorry, Peter. It looks like your shadow isn’t present for—”

“Administration office?”

The three of them look over to take in the lanky, tall, and pale brunet boy lingering at the entrance. He looks back at them with just as much interest and flashes a cocky smirk Peter’s way when their eyes meet.

To say the boy is handsome is kind of an understatement. His chiseled jaw is something to be envied, but _pretty_ is a more appropriate word to describe his green eyes paired with his dark, curly, neck-length hair and pouty pink lips.

“Osborn?” Mrs. Brant says, pointing to the boy.

He nods and adjusts his backpack straps. “Got lost. Crazy big school,” he explains shortly, nodding towards the hallway he just came from. “Sorry to impede on progress.”

“It’s perfectly fine, son. We’re just glad you made it.” Principal Morita puts a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder to guide him into the room.

“Harold Osborn,” Mrs. Brant reads from her clipboard and then looks between him and Peter. “You’re gonna be shadowing Peter for the next few days.”

Peter stands from the seat with a hand outstretched to shake the other boy’s hand, and the first thing he notices is just how strong the guy’s grip is and the weird tinge in the pit of his stomach at having to look up at him.

“Peter,” Peter introduces himself, pulling his hand back and stuffing it in his pocket. “I’m Peter. You can call me Peter. Or Pete. Or just P.” He makes a face and shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”  

To Peter’s surprise, he chuckles and gives him a once over. “Peter it is,” he agrees then touches his own chest. “I prefer Harry. Harold is way too pretentious for sixteen years old.”

“Harry,” Peter repeats, nodding then shooting a quick glance to Mrs. Brant. “Sixteen?”

“Oh, right.” Her bob swishes with each step she takes over to them to hand Harry his schedule. “Harry is actually a junior. He transferred from Bedford, so he’s especially new here at Midtown.”

“Yeah, my father relocated his company over the summer and figured other changes were in order, too,” Harry explains with a faint hint of sarcasm in his tone with another smirk. He’s very hard to read, but Peter is intrigued anyway.

“That’s cool! My step-dad has his own hardware stores, but they’re looking to expand next year,” Peter tells him proudly. “What company?”

Harry almost seems annoyed that he has to say it. “Oscorp, but please don’t hate me for it,” he grumbles.

Peter’s eyes widen. “W-wait,” he stutters and laughs nervously. “Oscorp? Like, uh, Osborn. Y-you’re Norman Osborn’s son. Like, _the_ Norman Osborn.”

Judging by the way Harry’s face twists up uncomfortably, it’s not something he’s immensely proud of. Before Harry can respond, Mrs. Brant chimes in again.

“The sons of Norman Osborn _and_ Tony Stark in one school? This is one for the Midtown Tech books.”

It’s Harry’s turn to be surprised. “ _You’re_ Tony Stark’s son?” he asks incredulously, pointing at Peter.

“Guilty as charged.”

“No way! I’ve been studying your dad’s clean energy program for years now,” Harry tells him.

“Yeah, but your dad’s recent research on cloning cells is, like, unparalleled. Oscorp is what made me wanna major in biochemistry,” Peter confesses, bright-eyed and focused on Harry like he holds the answer to everything. 

“I think you two are gonna get along swimmingly,” Mrs. Brant mutters under breath as she glances between them.

  
  


The remainder of the day goes by just as regularly as a day at Midtown Tech would go. Peter has some of the same teachers as previous years, he and Ned leave campus during their free period to eat at a pizzeria around the corner, and they get an early start on homework in the school library.

“How was your shadow?” Peter asks, flipping a page in his stats textbook.

Ned looks up from his calculus packet and taps his pencil against the table in thought. “She’s sweet. She’s from Forest Hill, by the way, so maybe you’ve seen her around.”

“Hmmm,” Peter hums. “Doesn’t Naruto run?”

“Surprisingly not. She’s actually a lot cooler than I initially gave her credit for. She’s a lot cooler than we were as freshman.”

“A can of tuna was cooler than us.”

“Yeah,” Ned says wistfully. “What about your shadow?”

Peter looks up from the book and over at his best friend. “Dude, you’re never gonna believe this. He’s Norman Osborn’s son. Like, _the_ Norman Osborn. His dad moved Oscorp over the summer and now he goes here. How’s that for cool?”

“It’s weird to get excited about that kinda thing as Tony Stark’s son, but yeah, that _is_ cool.”

“Yeah, but it’s Oscorp, Ned! _Oscorp_!”

Ned narrows his eyes at him. “This is what I imagine Beyoncé would be like if she met, like, Céline Dion.”

Peter snorts. “Yeah, aside from the fact that he’s the son of one of the greatest minds to ever exist—”

“Your father is _literally_ Tony Stark.”

“He’s so nice. Like, he looks like he’d be mean, but he’s not! Mr. Harrington and Mr. Menken loved him.”

“Mr. Menken,” Ned repeats. “How is he a freshman taking his class?”

“He’s actually a junior.”

“Why the hell is a junior in a buddy program for freshmen?”

“Man, I guess it’s ‘cus he’s new. Anyway, he’s really cool. I hope we get to hang out even after the whole buddy program, though.”

“When am I gonna meet him? Do you think he likes _Star Wars_ ? He’s not really cool _cool_ unless he does.”

“Ya know, Ned, I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but…” Peter’s sentence trails off when he looks back up and behind Ned to spot Harry entering the library and approaching their table. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Ned repeats, turning to follow Peter’s gaze. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Hey, Peter!” Harry says aloud then cringes when the librarian shushes him, despite the four of them being the only ones in the library.

“H-hey, man.” Peter beams up at him then points across from him. “Harry, this is Ned. Ned, Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, dude,” Ned says, staring at the other boy with a twinkle in his eye. “Are you enjoying being a Midtown Tiger yet?”

“Terrible school lunch aside, yeah, I am.” Harry chuckles with a shrug and turns to Peter. “I wanted to say thanks for showing me around.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem.”

“I mean, I know it’s what you’re supposed to do, but whatever. You made my first day pretty bearable.”

“Every day after the first just gets more and more unbearable, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

Harry agrees with a side tilted nod and restrained grin. “If I can keep up with you, I sure plan to.”

“That’s a great attitude, Harry.”

Ned makes a funny noise and pretends to be interested in his calculus.

“Well, I should get going. Dad’s picking me up early.”

“Tell him I said hey.”

“Only if you tell your dad I love him,” he jokes, making both Peter and Ned laugh.

“I’ll be sure to do so.”

“Thanks!” Harry taps Ned on the shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Ned. Hopefully, I’ll see you guys later.”

Harry makes his way to the exit and looks back once to wave before disappearing into the hallway. Peter doesn’t realize he’s still staring the way Harry left until Ned makes another noise and waves his pencil in Peter’s face.

“I get it,” Ned says.

Peter squints at him. “Hmmph?”

“Guy’s super dreamy.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ned smirks. “So, you’re telling me you didn’t pick up on the way you were just giving him serious heart eyes?”

“Heart eyes?”

“Come on, dude. He looks like a Greek statue had a baby with a Renaissance painting, and he was totally into it.”

Peter thinks about it and then shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ned scoffs, exasperated. “How is it that you’re _so_ oblivious when hot people show interest in you?”

“Are you reading me?”

“No, seriously, Peter. A girl like Gwen would’ve never looked your way a year ago, even if you are Tony Stark’s son.”

“So, you _are_ reading me.”

“And gosh, Michelle? I don’t know _how_ you didnt pick up on her having a crush on you.” Ned shakes his head.

“You think Michelle is hot?”

“Don’t change the subject. Now there’s Harry, who you neglected to tell me is beautiful, by the way.”

“Is there a point here?”

“No point. I’m just wondering if you’re gonna do anything about your very obvious crush on him.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You’re crazy. I _don’t_ have a crush on him and he doesn’t have a crush on me. I just met the kid, like, a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And hypothetically, even if he _did_ like me like that, I wouldn’t do anything about it because I’m taken.”

“And that’s beautiful!” Ned exclaims, earning a look from the librarian. “But you’re not gonna sit here and act like you don’t see it.”

Peter considers it but doesn’t let it show he is. Ned isn’t wrong often 

“Whatever, man.”

  


 

“How was your first day, kiddo?” May yells in the direction of the house from her garden in the backyard when she hears Peter come in.

“It was fine!” he hollers, tossing his backpack on the sofa then happily trots through the kitchen and into the backyard.

“Anything interesting happen?” she asks, looking up once from the pile of leaves and continues raking.

“You know how Midtown is,” he says with a shrug. “How was your day?”

“As normal as you’d expect it to be,” she answers boredly, raking stray leaves into the big pile. “You gonna visit your parents tonight?”

Peter shrugs again. It’s been a week since he’s seen Steve or Tony, but he can’t say he misses them just yet considering the three of them have talked every day since Tony’s visit to Ithaca.

“I think I’ll let them live in the honeymoon phase a little while before I crash back into their lives,” Peter jokes and shakes his head. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Don’t nap too long or you’ll ruin your sleep schedule!” she warns after him.

When Peter reaches his room, he pulls his phone out to set up his lullaby playlist. Just as he does, an Instagram notification pops up. 

 _the_harry_osborn started following you!_  

Not even a second later, his own notifications flood with _the_harry_osborn liked your picture._

Peter swipes the screen, opening the app to scroll through Harry’s account and liking nearly every picture.

 

 

Over the next couple of weeks, Peter and Harry become fast friends and hang out long after the buddy program ends for the semester. Ned doesn’t let Peter breathe about it.

  


 

Much to Peter’s surprise, Michelle calls him more than he calls her and they spend hours on the phone. She’s in solid agreement with Ned when he tells her about Harry, and after relentless teasing and reminding them that he has a boyfriend, Peter mentally blocks them both out.

  
  


**OCTOBER**

Steve and Bucky choose a brisk Sunday morning to go to the courthouse to officially get married. It’s a quick and painless process and they’re home by nightfall with takeout for dinner. When Peter asks how it went, their answers are nonchalant and underwhelming to say the least.

“I mean, it was cool and all,” Bucky says with a shrug as he digs into the paper bag for a plastic fork. “Your Dad cried.”

Steve tosses his damp, balled up paper towel Bucky’s way after he’s done drying his hands. “ _You_ made me cry,” he insists and gives Peter a soft look. “His vows were beautiful.”

Bucky scrunches his face up and looks at Peter too. “They had us do those regular ‘in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for rich or poor’ generic bullshit vows. Wasn’t that special.”

“I know, but when ya said them, it sounded like you really meant it,” Steve retaliates, his voice going up an octave with how joyous he feels. “I will say it is funny that our official anniversary is exactly one month after my divorce, but stranger things have happened.”

Peter lifts his eyebrows and gets a plate from the cupboard. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen in this family,” he mutters.

  
\--  


The first weekend that the pumpkin patch is open, Peter, Ned, Harry, and a few of the kids from the academic decathlon team take the train down to Brooklyn to partake in the Halloween festivities.

The owners have expanded it since last year, now including a haunted house and a costume shop. Peter doesn’t have much interest in going into the haunted house like his friends, leaving him the odd man out left waiting until the attraction is over.

“I’ll stay with you,” Harry offers, stepping out of line behind Abe.

Peter shakes his head and gestures to the rest of the group. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “It’s your first year here. Don’t let me stop you. You should—”

“I don’t mind!” Harry says honestly with a huge smile that fades just as quickly as it appeared, being replaced with a glare of concern. “Unless you’d rather be alone and I’m being wildly intrusive.”

“Oh, god, no.” Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine. The company would be nice. I just didn’t wanna hold you back from, uh, ya know, like…” He stammers, awkwardly shrugging as he looks back and forth between Harry and the rest of his friends.

“No, it’s cool, Peter,” he utters, smiling again and then turning to the group. “We’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“You sure?” Jason asks.

Harry and Peter nod simultaneously. 

“Meet us by the scarecrow,” Peter says more to Ned than any of them.

 

 

There’s something about Harry that Peter _really_ likes. He can’t tell if it’s his charm, his sense of humor, his intelligence, or maybe all of the above. Either way, Peter likes spending time with the other boy and it doesn't hurt that he’s very good looking.

Not that Peter really notices how cute Harry is or anything.

It could be that Harry reminds him of Johnny, and there isn’t anything about Johnny that Peter doesn’t like. He hopes the two of them can meet when Johnny comes down for Steve and Bucky’s wedding.

“Okay, but if you really think about it,” Harry says, digging another notch into his halfway carved pumpkin. “If we as a nation had to choose the superior vine is, it’s obviously _There’s only one thing worse than a rapist...boom...a child...No._ ”

Peter scoffs, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “That’s _Ms. Keisha...oh my fucking god, she fucking dead_ erasure.”

“Close second.”

“I hope that little girl is okay.”

“I’m sure she is.” Harry inspects his work and shakes his head, unimpressed. “What do ya think?”

Peter glances over at the generic toothless smile and triangle eyes cut into the fruit. “He’s cute.” He moves away to show his. “What about mine?”

Peter’s pumpkin looks similar to Harry’s with minimal details like eyebrows and a nose, but nonetheless Harry nods with interest.

“Not bad, Michelangelo,” he says, nudging Peter’s shoulder with his before going back to his pumpkin. “You decided on a costume yet?”

“Ned and I are gonna go as Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. Ya know that really old nursery rhyme? It’s literally just me wearing a shirt with my name on it with him in a pumpkin costume.”

“Smart,” he says with a questioning head tilt.  “A little innuendo is good, too.”

“What about you?”

“Dracula.” Harry blows cut up pumpkin chunks off of the picnic table. “Or maybe Nosferatu but I’m not shaving my head.”

“You like vampires?”

“I’m more of a werewolf guy, but considering I look pretty lifeless all the time, a vampire would be more convincing,” he explains and points to Peter. “You’d make a great Marty McFly, by the way.”

Peter grins to himself. “I’ve gotten that once or twice,” he says fondly. “Ya know, if we wanted to keep with the vampire theme, you could go as Edward, I could be Bella, and Ned could be Jacob.”

“I’d rather be Bella.”

“That could work.” Without thinking about it, Peter puts his hands through Harry’s wavy hair, intrigued by how soft and thick it is. “We could borrow one of Ned’s mom’s wigs for full effect,” he mumbles, massaging the roots and then shaking his head. “Ya know, your hair’s already pretty long, so I guess we could just ask May if we can use those extensions she bought that one time. She’s only worn them once because she said the clips hurt her head.”

In the midst of Peter’s rambling, he barely takes notice of the awestruck expression Harry is giving him. He still hasn’t pulled his hand from Harry’s hair, but for some reason, he really doesn’t want to.

Especially when he’s looking at him like _that_.

It could’ve been Peter’s imagination, but Harry’s sparkling green eyes flit down to Peter’s lips and back as he subtly leans forward.

“ _A-hem_.”

Both boys jump away from each other, turning behind them to see Ned, Jason, and Abe staring at them impatiently. Peter jerks his hand from Harry’s hair, ignores the pointed glare Ned is shooting him and pretends his heart isn’t racing a mile a minute when he opens his mouth to speak.

“Done already?” he squeaks and then clears his throat. “Done already?” he repeats with clarity in the bass of his voice.

“Couldn’t find you guys under the scarecrow,” Ned tells them, pointing across the farm to the gigantic scarecrow propped on the entryway into the corn maze. “You guys still up for the maze?”

Peter nods vehemently. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters, praying the blush on his cheeks can be hidden at this angle. “Uh, Harry? Maze? Wanna go through the maze? I love mazes.”

Harry’s cheeks are just as red as Peter’s. “Yeah, the maze sounds fun.”

The maze is fun, but it’s hard to focus on which way Peter is going when every thought in the world is swirling around in his head.

When the patch closes, the group takes the train back to Queens and kills time till curfew in the arcade. Abe and Jason walk back to their neighborhood one way, Ned and Peter go the other, and Harry has his dad’s driver pick him up from the arcade 

Once Ned and Peter are alone, Peter fully expects his best friend to make a smart comment about the suggestive position he caught Harry and Peter in, but he doesn’t. In fact, he goes on and on about a paper he has due Monday and not much else.

  


Because it’s closest to the subway, Peter lets himself into Steve and Bucky’s house and tip-toes up to his room. He strips down to just his boxers, brushes his teeth and just when he’s getting ready to call it a night, his phone vibrates.

_Have a good nite babe. Love u. Will call u tomorrow._

Peter smiles and re-reads Johnny’s text a few more times before responding.

 _Love you too_ , he types out, adding on kissy face and vibrating heart emojis. _GN!_

His phone vibrates again a second after hitting send, but this time with a text from Harry.

_Hey btw I meant to mention this tonight but forgot. I’m having a little Halloween get together thing so if u and Ned have nowhere to wear your costume it’d be sweet if u guys came through._

The side eye emoji could mean a multitude of things.

Peter lifts his eyebrow and begins typing.

_Barely a month into the school year and you’re already having parties??? The popularity jumped out._

Harry ha-ha’s the text and the three gray bubbles pop up.

 _I_ _might have promised I’d have a little bit of cocaine around the house so that’s why everyone agreed to come._

_Cocaine isn’t my thing, but I’ll be there anyway._

_Great! I’ll text you tomorrow._

_Night!_

  
\--

October eleventh is a special day.

It marks officially nine days until the homecoming dance and even more notably, it’s Johnny’s twentieth birthday.

The moment the final bell lets out for the school day, Peter sprints to the subway and fidgets with excitement the entire way back to Forest Hill.

“Hey, May!” he yells into the house, stomping up the stairs two at a time. “I’ll be down in a minute!”

He doesn’t even hear her response before rushing into his room and barely getting his school clothes off when he begins to FaceTime Johnny.

Johnny answers on the second ring, smiling at his propped phone when Peter brings his own close to his face.

“Happy birthday!” Peter exclaims and tosses his phone back onto his bed to grab a t-shirt from the closet.

“Aw, you remembered,” Johnny sing-songs jokingly and pulls a gift box into frame. “Can I open my present now? It’s been sitting here for a week.”

“Amazon Prime is faster than I remembered.” Peter slips on sweatpants and takes his phone in hand. “Anyway, yes, please open it.”

Johnny cuts open the edges and tape with a pair of scissors and pulls the cardboard flaps back, revealing an array of packing material that goes discarded. Johnny’s face lights up when he pulls out the gift and inspects it.

After spending his share of nights in the same bed as Johnny, Peter took notice that Johnny is one of those people who loves to be swaddled up in many blankets in order to sleep. He also mentioned in passing about how much he likes fleece blankets when he thought Peter wasn’t listening, which made it easy to find a gift Johnny would like.

“I knew you were corny,” he starts, chuckling as he rips the plastic and holds the blanket above his head. “But this is _ultimately_ corny.”

Like the sentimental boy he is, Peter couldn’t just leave the fleece blanket as is. He wouldn’t be his true lovesick self if he didn’t have it custom made with a collage of their selfies together on both sides either.

“You like it?” Peter asks, cheeks red and round as he watches Johnny wrap it around his shoulders.

“Yeah, babe.” Johnny’s eyes practically have hearts in them. “I love it. I really love it. Best gift ever.”

“Good.” Peter rolls off of his bed and over to his desk, propping his phone against a stack of books. “So, what else did you do today?”

Johnny goes on to tell him about the cake Dugan got him at work, Dr. Storm taking him to the racetrack later tonight, and Sue gifting him with pajamas. They’re on the phone for an hour and a half when Peter gets started his homework and Johnny has him paused to check his other social media.

“Who’s this twink dude who keeps popping up in your stories?” Johnny asks out of nowhere, tapping sounds on his end emitting from the phone speaker.

“All my friends are twinks, so you’re gonna have to specify,” Peter says, erasing something on the page.

“The white one.”

“You know I don’t have any white friends.”

“The tall one. Really skinny. Looks like he knows something we don’t,” he groans. “He’s on here rapping to Tyler the Creator and dancing around your room.”

“Oh, that’s Harry,” he answers, remembering how funny it was to watch Harry struggle to dance and rap at the same time. “He’s new.”

“How new?”

“Well, he moved here over the summer and started Midtown last month.”

“Hmmph,” he huffs. “He seems interesting.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Interesting like…?” he prompts.

Johnny is probably shrugging but Peter can’t see it. “Interesting like cool, I guess.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything else for a short minute. Peter hums to himself, contently enjoying the silence between them as he finishes up his homework.

“So, do you guys hang out, like, everyday or something?” Johnny suddenly asks.

“Uh, not everyday, but often enough ‘cus he was my shadow for that buddy program I joined,” he tells him.

“I only ask since he’s on your story nearly everyday.”

“I mean, he doesn’t really have a lot of good friends yet, so yeah, we hang out but not _everyday_.”

“Yeah, but he’s been on your story a lot lately,” Johnny repeats, switching back to the camera to regard Peter with the best nonchalant cover up over a tinge of annoyance in his expression.

“What about it?” Peter challenges, staring back into the camera. “Ned and the other guys are on my story a lot, too.”

“Yeah, but I know about them.”

“Okay, well, now you know about Harry.”

“Do I? I don’t mean to pry, babe. I’m just a little curious about him is all. Like, where’s he from?”

“He’s from Manhattan,” Peter exhales tiredly, putting his homework in a folder and then stuffing it into his backpack. “Any more burning questions?”

Johnny pauses the conversation again. “He just doesn’t seem like the kinda person you’d hang out with.”

“Well, you don’t know him,” Peter reminds him and then scrunches his face up. “What’s that supposed to even mean?”

Johnny huffs. “Just seems a little… I don’t know,” he says, unsure. “Can’t put my finger on it, but whatever it is, he seems a little… not your type.”

“Funny ‘cus we’re alike in a lot of ways.” Peter laughs to himself. “We’re both gonna major in biochemistry, we love _Star Wars_ , our dads are scientists. Oh, and our birthdays are only, like, five days apart which makes sense cus Michelle was saying that Cancers have really good compatibility especially when it comes to—”

“Wow, why don’t you just marry him, then?” Johnny snorts.

Peter shuts his mouth and narrows his eyes off to the side as he thinks about what Johnny just said.

Or rather, how he said it.

“What is your problem?” Peter asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I don’t have a problem.” Johnny responds, returning to the screen with a grimace.

“Why are you being so offhanded?”

“Offhanded about what?”

“I thought you’d be, I don’t know, a little happy I made a new friend, but you’re coming off really suspicious.”

“Yeah, I am happy you’re making friends, but I can’t help feeling a little suspicious that this dude has been all over your social media when you just met him last month.”

“I didn’t know there was a grace period of waiting between meeting someone and introducing them onto your social media, which means literally nothing, by the way,” Peter responds sarcastically.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Just saying it took a thousand years for you to post anything about me, and I’m _only_ your boyfriend.”

Peter genuinely cannot believe what he’s hearing. “Are you kidding me right now? Are you actually _jealous_?”

“Jealous of him? Please.”

“God, okay, Johnny, do you want me to post you more? Is that what all of this is really about?”

The other man shakes his head and rolls his eyes to look at something off screen. “Forget it.”

“Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

If there’s one thing Peter doesn’t miss about Johnny, it’s his headstrong and dismissive nature about just anything. Peter sighs defeatedly. Once Johnny gets in one of his moods, there’s no coaxing him out.

“Are you mad at me?” Peter asks after a few minutes of silence.

Johnny shakes his head again. “No.”

“I can tell you’re lying.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be so passive with me.”

“Would you just drop it?” Johnny snaps and groans frustratedly. “I gotta start getting ready. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

Peter nods silently. “Yeah,” he whispers, glaring down at his feet.

“Cool. I really do love my gift, by the way.”

“Great.”

“I’ll see you, babe.”

Before Peter can say anything else, Johnny disconnects the call, leaving the boy sitting there trying to make something of their conversation.

“Love you, too,” he murmurs under his breath to no one.

  
\--  


Ned ends up getting sick with a stomach virus the night of Harry’s Halloween party, leaving Peter to run to May for help in putting together a last minute costume. After doing a bit of digging around in May’s closet, he finds a pair of baggy jeans, a red puffy vest, a plaid button-up, and a jean shirt convincing enough for a Marty McFly costume. He adds on his own dusty Nike shoes and an old stopwatch for effect.

May drops him off at the Osborn mansion on her way to bingo, and Peter immediately wishes Ned was here with him the moment he walks. He barely recognizes any of his peers in costume as they dance and meander around the house in colorful groups, all holding red plastic cups. It’s hard to tell what is what and where leads to where with how dim the party lights are. The obnoxiously loud music doesn’t help either.

For the first few minutes upon arrival, Peter idly wanders the lower level, looking for a familiar face. He spots Abe and Jason dressed as Mr. Rogers and Bob Ross out in the backyard, but on his way over to them, a firm hand wraps around his wrist.

He turns to be met face to face with Harry in a very realistic Dracula costume down to the eccentric red cape, jewelry, and slicked back hair. Two shiny fangs glint when Harry opens his mouth to smile.

“You made it,” he says, leaning in so that he can be heard over the music. “And you came as...” He pulls away to inspect his costume. “Marty McFly. Very cute.”

“Seemed appropriate.”

“Wait a minute,” Harry pauses. “What happened to Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater? Where’s Ned?”  
  
“Oh, he had some bad tomato soup,” Peter explains. “Pretty much blowing chunks everywhere when I last talked to him.”  
  
Harry makes a face. “Thanks for the visual, but uh, I was really hoping he’d be here. We’ve got a bit of a bet on who would win in a game of beer pong. I mean, I’m a pro, but he feels like he’s got luck on his side.”  
  
Peter eyes widen up at the other boy. “Beer pong, like, alcohol?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve been holding off on crushing a bottle of Jack Daniels until he got here.” Harry frowns thoughtfully, absently licking the prosthetic fangs  in his mouth.  
  
“Oh, uh, I’ll play with you,” Peter suggests.  
  
“You ever played beer pong?”  
  
“Well, no.”  
  
“Flip cup?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Do you even drink?”  
  
“Well, uh, May let me have a few glasses of wine when she had her book club over last month, so, I mean, kinda.”  
  
Harry, amused, tilts his head sideways. “You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to, if it’s not your thing. There’s plenty of juice and water in the kitchen if you’d rather have that, and I don’t mind staying sober with you.”

Peter shakes his head without thinking. As unfamiliar with drinking and the games associated as he is, he would rather play along and gain experience. Granted, his parents wouldn’t be happy about it if they found out, but it's nothing they need to ever find out.

“It’s cool,” Peter says. “I’d love to join you. It’ll be fun.”

“You’re sure?" 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Peter nods. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

Peter ends up being better at beer pong, flip cup, and drunk musical chairs than he thought. He also didn’t expect beer to be so bitter, but it doesn’t stop him from chugging it like water throughout the night.

By the time a second round of drunk charades commences, Peter has developed a tipsy haze that makes any and everything funny, which is why he’s the loudest in the room when Harry discombobulatingly impersonates Michael Jackson. Obviously Harry and Peter don’t get the point against the other team, so they down two shot glasses of Malibu rum and chase it with fruit juice. 

Despite his costume getting hot, his senses becoming muffled, everything happening in slow motion, and wishing Ned were here, Peter is having a really good time.

 

 

At some point in the night, the mass of the party gravitates to the living room where the deejay has the room shaking because of how loud the music is. Peter two-steps to a few songs against the wall, nursing a cold bottle of water to sober himself up. He doesn’t listen to a lot of what’s being played, but he doesn’t mind taking a breather.

“Not a fan of Ed Sheeran?” Harry asks when he emerges from the crowd to join him on the wall.

“I mean, he’s okay, but it’s not my favorite.”

“What’s your favorite then?”

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“Try me.”

Peter bites his lips, his cheeks flushing. “I really love disco music.”

“Such a hipster,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “You like anyone current?”

Peter takes a moment to think about what it’s in the recently played playlist on his phone and nods rapidly. “Cardi B.”

“I can’t say I was expecting that.”

“Are you kidding me? I love her.”

“Yeah, everyone does, but I still wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, who’s your favorite?”

“Obviously Tyler the Creator.”

Peter nods, vaguely remembering something Harry said about liking his music. “He’s good. Ned likes his music, too.”

“Speaking of Ned,” Harry begins, easing closer beside Peter. “It sucks he couldn’t be here, but I’m glad you showed up. You screwed us over in that last game of flip cup, but I appreciate you playing anyway.”

“You’re too kind,” Peter giggles and takes a sip of water when the faint taste of beer creeps up on the back of his throat.

“Wait here,” Harry demands and disappears into the dark crowd of costumes. Peter watches him climb onto the deejay booth, whispers something to the guy mixing. They share a look as Harry makes his way back across the room to where Peter is standing.

Peter narrows his eyes at Harry’s knowing smirk. “What are you smiling about?”

On cue, the opening chords of “Bodak Yellow” fill the house, bringing a new wave of energy to the sea of party guests. Sober Peter would’ve held himself together, but Kinda-Tipsy-In-The-Mood-To-Get-Crazy Peter yells out and immediately begins to dance once the chorus hits. Despite his breathlessness, he begins rapping along to the lyrics with confidence, so Harry pulls his phone out to record. Peter is having too much fun to care about what a sweaty mess he looks like, bopping off beat and showing off for the camera as if he’s in a music video.

Throughout the entirety of the song, Harry and Peter dance beside each other, slowly gravitating towards the middle of the dance floor. By the last chorus, the boys are so close that it’s nearly impossible for either to not notice.

Harry’s hands find themselves around Peter’s waist, cautiously pulling the other boy close. His eyes dart around Peter’s face for any signs of hesitation. Peter stares back just as curiously, face and neck flushed scarlet and hot.

All of this feels _too_ familiar.

“Hey,” Harry utters, tucking a stray hair behind his own ear.

Peter bites his bottom lip. “H-hi.”

For a moment, Harry looks like he’s going to say something smart, but there’s the slight shift of worry in his expression. “It’s really hot,” he states and blinks for longer than normal. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, squeezing Harry’s wrist when his hand begins to tremor against his hip. “Hey, Harry, are you alright?”

“Honestly? No.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks again.

“Do you think you could walk with me to my room really quick?” he asks, his voice shaking. “Just for a moment. I don’t wanna be alone. Please.”

Peter couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. “Of course. You just gotta show me where.”

Harry looks around, and lets Peter’s hips go to take his hand again. Peter follows compliantly through the crowd, with his eyes glued to their joined hands. Once Harry leads them past the party, Peter gets in front of him to take them up a long flight of stairs.

“Other there,” Harry slurs tiredly, pointing to a random door in the vast hallway. Peter opens the door and carefully guides Harry into where he assumes Harry’s bedroom.

The taller boy instantly collapses onto the gigantic bed, in the middle of the room, heaving a huge sigh of relief when his body bounces on the mattress. Peter shutsnthe door behind them and leans against it as he stares around the room. It’s decorated modestly; it looks like the Stark Industries lobby rather than a teenage boy’s bedroom.

“Are you alright?” Peter asks for a third time. “You looked like you were gonna pass out.”

“I was, but I figured that’d be a pretty embarrassing thing to do. He laughs without humor and then scoffs. “Uh, Graves’ disease is really common in my family, and I overheat a lot. I knew I was asking for trouble drinking so much _and_ dancing.”

“What are some other symptoms?” Peter wonders, joining Harry on the edge of the bed.

“Irritability, anxiety, insomnia, heart palpitations,” Harry says, blinking languidly. “A whole list of shit.”

“When’d you get diagnosed?”

“Two years ago.” Harry’s chest rises and falls slowly. “Doc’s always telling me to take shit easy until I get the surgery, but when do I ever do what I’m told, huh?”

“You were just having fun,” Peter tries to reason, but all he gets is a snort of disbelief for his troubles. “Anything you want me to do?”

“Help me get out of this dumbass costume before I roast to death and my father has one less person to yell at all the time.”

A wave of sadness washes over Peter. As hard as Harry is to figure out, he’s unbelievably transparent.

He stands to assist Harry in getting his costume off. At first he’s afraid to ruin the expensive looking getup, but Harry whines impatiently when Peter takes too long in unbuttoning his blouse. In the process, Peter starts to get a little heated himself, so he also removes a few layers.

“Much better.” Harry shivers once he’s down to his undershirt and a pair of basketball shorts. “God, look at my skin.”

Random red splotches cover the length of Harry’s limbs and Peter is running his hands over each one before he can help himself to not.

“You want water or something? Maybe that’ll help you cool down,” Peter suggests‍, looking up from Harry’s skin to meet his sad looking eyes.

“A wet cloth usually helps,” he says and points to the adjoined bathroom. “Uh, if you don’t mind getting me one.”

“I’m on it.”

Peter gets a washcloth from under the bathroom vanity sink, folds it longways, and immerses it in hot water. Harry is removing his fangs when Peter walks back in and hands him the compress.

“It took me at least an hour to get these in properly,” Harry laughs, tossing the fake teeth to the side and setting the cloth over his eyes. “ _Ah_.”

“If you would’ve just been Edward Cullen you wouldn’t have had to worry about putting in fangs,” Peter jokes and removes his shoes to get more comfortable. Something tells him they’ll be up here for a while.

“If I really wanted to get people talking, I could’ve went as Alice. I have the perfect dress,” he says, grinning sideways.

“I find it really suspicious that Alice can see the future and she didn’t warn anyone about Trump.”

“That was selfish of her,” Harry rubs his eyes through the cloth. “Not only did my father vote for Trump, but he continuously donates money for conversion therapy research,” Harry adds, wagging his finger sarcastically. “Image being a grown man so concerned with what his son does with his dick that he donates actual money to research a concept that has no scientific proof of existing.”

Peter frowns, thinking over what he’s heard. “You’re gay.”

“Thought that was obvious when I suggested we watch _Glitter_ a week ago.”

“Oh.” Peter brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin on his hands. “When did you come out?”

“I haven’t. At least, not to anyone that matters.”

“Really?”

“I mean, the nine-hundred something followers on my finsta know. It sure would be quite the scandal if people found out that the homo hiding behind a Lana Del Rey icon is Norman Osborn’s son.”

“Would you ever feel comfortable publicly coming out?”

“When I graduate college and guilt my father into giving me a small loan of a million dollars,” Harry answers, sitting up and removing the cloth from his face. “That way I can disown myself and never have contact with him ever again.”

Harry adjusts himself towards Peter and the light from the ceiling fan shines on his face just enough for Peter to notice the faint discoloration, smudges of wet powder, and unblended streaks of concealer under Harry’s eyes.

His face must change drastically because Harry glares at him in perplexment. “What?”

“You’ve got a little, uh,” Peter starts and when he gestures to Harry’s cheek, the other boy leaps up and turns his back to Peter like he’d been set on fire.

“Shit,” he hisses, stomping quickly to the bathroom and shutting the door loudly. Behind the door, he begins swearing up a storm and if Peter weren’t as tired and unhinged as he is in this moment, he would’ve followed after his friend.

Harry exits the bathroom a few moments later, grimacing at himself when he sits back in his spot. Neither of them say anything at first, but Peter can’t help openly looking at Harry.

His usual blemish-free and glowing alabaster skin is now dull and riddled with acne scars and hyperpigmentation along the cheeks and jaw. Under his eyes lay heavy, discolored bags that only accentuate how sad Harry looks.

Peter waits for him to say something first.

Harry sighs aloud and focuses down at his twiddling fingers. “The, um, my condition makes it kinda hard to keep clear skin for long periods of time, so makeup is the next best thing.”

“You put it on everyday?”

Harry nods, almost ashamed if his hung head indicates anything.

Peter eases in closer to him, nudging his shoulder with his own. “My stepmom has a team of, like, twenty people help her put her makeup on, so you’re not alone.”

“I just really didn’t want you to see me without any on.”

Peter lifts an eyebrow. “Why? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I just—” he starts and groans. “I hate how I look sometimes.”

That throws Peter for a loop. “But you’re so confident.”

“Yeah, Fenty Beauty will do that for you,” he utters. “I think I look okay, but I wish I wasn’t so insecure about it, you get me? I know I can’t help it, but I really hate that I can’t.”

“I think you’re pretty cute with or without it.”

The look Harry gives Peter is downright precious. Peter doesn’t know why he said it outloud or where he got the balls to do so, but there’s something about the way Harry is looking at him that makes him want to say more.

“Well, not cute,” he corrects himself. “More like _really_ handsome. Pretty, even. Ned said you look like an Italian wet dream.”

Harry snorts again. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“That means a lot coming from you,” he whispers, shyly grinning down at his feet as his cheeks blush bright red.

“Me?”

Harry nods and side eyes him cautiously before turning his head to look at Peter completely. Peter returns the look, smiling dopily and acutely unaware of how close their faces are.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Peter mumbles, voice rough with arousal. This is a recipe for disaster, but he’s so far gone on this boy that he can't even figure out why.

Harry’s gaze dips to Peter’s lips. “Like what?”

“Like you wanna eat me up.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting on you to say you want me to.”

 _Smooth_.

Peter leans in, waiting for Harry to make his move. Before he can stop it, their lips connect in a very gentle and cautious peck. They pull away for a split second to watch each other and experimentally go back in for another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

They move on instinct and despite the sloppy mess of saliva, alcohol breath, and uncoordinated licking, neither pull away. Harry is a good kisser and he’s just the perfect amount of controlling that Peter immediately falls submissive to his ministrations.

He doesn’t know how Harry’s lips end up across his face, down his jaw, and on his neck, but he knows it feels _fucking_ good. Harry’s tongue wanders behind his ear and Peter elicits an unexpected moan when his earlobe gets caught in a nibble between Harry’s teeth. He can’t even get the grip he wants on Harry’s hair because of the gel, so he settles for cupping a hand on the side of other boy’s neck to help himself over Harry’s lap.

Harry lays back, propped up on his elbows with a devilish grin and a hungry stare up at Peter straddling him. Peter captures his lips again, sinking himself down onto Harry’s lap. Harry’s lips find their way trailing downward again, making obscene noises as he mouths at the salty moist surface of Peter’s neck. Peter falls victim to the sensation, practically collapsing onto Harry while his hips ground down until he’s half-erect in his jeans.

Anything that feels _this_ good can’t be right.

“Fuck,” Harry moans, hands encasing Peter’s waist as he guides Peter back and forth along his erection.

This isn’t right.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter repeats, partially in pleasure and the other in realization. Through the alcohol induced haze and euphoria of being intimate, he slowly comes to his senses about what they’re doing.

Peter knows _this isn’t right._

It feels right, but _it fucking isn’t._

 _“_ Wait,” he says, pulling away from Harry. “We can’t.”

Harry’s eyebrows lift curiously. He bites his reddening bottom lip.

“We can’t.” Peter utters, one hand up in defense while the other smooths hair from out of his face. “We, um, shouldn't. We really shouldn’t. I’m pretty, uh, drunk.”

Harry gives him a look of understanding, nodding when it occurs to him that he’s just as intoxicated. He almost appears embarrassed.

“Yeah, I am, too. We both are. I shouldn’t have—,” he hiccups, eyes widening comically. “—drank so much. I don’t do it often, so I hope you don’t think I’m some sad story teen alcoholic.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine,” Peter laughs humorously, his eyes shying away shamefully as he climbs off Harry’s lap. “We’re okay.”

“I should probably check to make sure my house isn’t falling to pieces down there.” Harry stands and if he weren’t so inebriated, he’d have the decency to look embarrassed by the tent in his sweatpants. “Stay here?”

Peter nods. “Okay.”

Harry exits the room, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts. As quickly as it happened, it ended and Peter should feel okay with himself for stopping before it got too out of hand, shouldn't he?

“Idiot,” he murmurs to himself when the weight of tonight’s events crashes down on him.

As always, he’s ruined everything and nothing after tonight will be the same.

He doesn’t even know how to make it right.

Is this something that can even be made right?

A headache begins to form at the base of his neck. He’s far too tired, sleepy, and horny to stay awake now and all he wants to do is crash into his own bed.

Peter takes his phone from his pocket, searches for Johnny’s contact and presses the call button. Every second the other line rings and Johnny doesn’t pick up feeds more and more into Peter’s guilt-ridden anxiety.

“Babe?” Johnny mumbles tiredly. “It’s almost two.”

“I love you,” Peter blurts out.

There’s a moment of silence on both ends. “I love you, too,” Johnny responds clearer this time. “Are you okay?”

Peter shakes his head even though he knows Johnny can’t see him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Where’s all this coming from?”

As if on cue, tears pool in Peter’s eyes but he holds them back.

“I don’t wanna ever fight again. Ever.”

Johnny makes a funny noise. “What are you talking about?”

“Promise me we’ll never fight again,” Peter practically pleads. “Johnny, I’m serious. Like, _please_.”

Johnny is silent again for another short moment. Peter is just about ready to beg until his boyfriend speaks up.

“I promise. No more fighting.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

Peter shakes his head again. “I’m fine. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course, you can. I love you.”

Peter closes his eyes to avoid tears escaping. “I love you, too.”

  
\--  


Much to Peter’s joy, nothing changes between him and Harry. As time goes on, neither mention the party and continue being the way they were before anything happened. If Harry isn’t going to mention it then neither is Peter.

They go without incident until a few days before homecoming. As they’re studying in the Rogers’s living room, Harry pokes Peter’s barefoot with a highlighter. Peter flinches as the dull point dents the bottom of his foot and jerks away on instinct.

“What?” Peter chuckles, looking over at Harry at the other end of the couch. He’s been looking so much younger since he stopped wearing makeup everyday.

“I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you something all week but I don’t know how,” he confesses, grinning shyly.

“Just ask.”

Harry hesitates, ducking his head low. “Well, you know homecoming is this Saturday and I know you and Ned usually go together,” he starts, meeting Peter’s eyes shortly then ducking his head again. “But I was thinking _we_ could go together. Felicia from homeroom was saying something about asking Ned to go with her, so it could be, like, a group date thing?”

Peter has never been asked to be someone’s homecoming date, and he should be more excited about it except for the fact that it’s Harry asking.

Not to say there’s anything wrong with Harry; he’d be delighted to go with Harry or nearly anyone he’s ever had a crush on. What happened at the party complicated things more than Harry knows—which isn’t really his fault by any means—and guilt isn’t going to let Peter give in again.

Even if he really does want to wear color coordinated suits, give each other corsages, have Peter’s parents take pictures, dance until their feet hurt and then make out all night at a pancake house afterwards.

Peter blinks past that visual and clicks his teeth. “Um, I wish I could, but I’m not even going. I’m babysitting my brother that night.”

Harry’s face falls in disappointment but he sighs in relief anyway. “Oh,” he says on the exhale and sets his text book and highlighter onto the coffee table. “Even if we can’t go to homecoming…” Harry leans forward and begins crawling towards Peter’s end of the couch. “I can still take you on a date, right?”

Harry’s lips land on Peter’s cheek, sending a shiver running through every nerve end in his body. They’re perfectly sober and Peter really is an idiot if he thought that just because Harry didn’t mention that night he forgot.

“My dads are literally in the next room,” he tries despite being fully prepared to fall into the other boy.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers.

It’s not.

_None of this is okay._

Peter shakes his head and straightens his posture, Harry’s lips slipping off of Peter’s cheek in the process.

“We can’t.”

Harry pulls away to be met with Peter's scrunched up and uncomfortable expression. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, shoulder hunching in on themselves as he pulls back further.

“I can’t go on a date with you.”

“No, I got that,” Harry responds tightly, turning away to avoid the pitiful way Peter is looking at him.

“I have a boyfriend,” Peter tells him.

Harry scoffs. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, okay?”

“No, I really do,” Peter insists and grabs his phone from the coffee table. “He’s, uh, from upstate. Ithaca. Well, he’s actually from the city but he moved up there a while ago. This is him.”

Peter shows Harry a picture of him and Johnny at the farmer’s market from his camera roll. Harry’s eyes widen in surprise.

“ _He’s_ your boyfriend?”

Peter nods proudly and sets his phone back on the table. “Johnny.”

Harry sits in his thoughts for a brief couple of minutes and shakes his head. “Well, that answers two of my questions. 

“Hmmm?”

“First was gonna be if you’re into boys or if what happened at the party was just some weird, drunk experiment on your end.”

“Oh, God, no.” Peter recalls the journey of self discovery fondly and tries to hide a smile. “I’m bisexual, so yeah.”

Harry nods sadly. “My second question was if you were seeing anybody, male or female, because I just really wanted to take you out on a date or something.”

Neither say anything for another moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says first. “As nice as what happened at the party was, I didn’t mean to lead you on. I just thought that—”

“No, no, no,” Harry interrupts quickly, both hands flying in up in surrender placatingly. “You didn’t lead me on. I fucked up and assumed you being nice was flirting because I’m terrible at reading body language and I’m really used to people only being nice to me when they want something and...and—” He stops to catch a breath. “You’re not like that at all. I shouldn’t have… _we_ shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I should’ve said something.” Peter frowns. “It wasn’t supposed to get like this. I just wanna be friends. You’re a good friend, and you didn’t deserve to be yanked along like this.”

“Yeah, being friends is fine. I don’t wanna throw away a good friendship just because I was horny,” he agrees, making Peter laugh and hit him on the shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

  


Peter’s friends go as a group to the dance. He bounces Harley on his hip as he scrolls through the photos and watches their stories, idly humming along to the _Sesame Street_ theme song playing in the living room.

 

\--

 

 

Halloween night brings them to a party at Jason’s house. Peter and Harry stay far away from any alcohol served and end up having to babysit Ned half the night after the boy drinks his fair share of tequila.

It oddly brings them closer.

 

 

**NOVEMBER**

Planning a wedding, Peter learns, is stressful.

There are fun moments like catering trials, cake tasting, and creating a playlist for the reception, but Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t freak out about everything and Bucky wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t have a nonchalant attitude about the planning process in general.

Steve was too stubborn to hire a wedding planner since he wanted to be as hands-on as possible since Tony handled everything the first time around.

Stupidest decision he could’ve ever made.

Peter feels for his parents. He really does.

And that’s why he goes to the suit fittings, flower shops, and puts together gift bags without complaining. Anything to make the process easier, Peter will do. Aside from those things and being a groomsman, his only other responsibility is to make sure his own guests RSVP so they could put together a seating chart.

Ned made a big deal about being in attendance and has been on the search for a suit that will match his favorite cowboy hat ever since Peter invited him. Michelle said the only reason why she’s attending is because she’d rather spend her holiday break at a gay wedding rather than facing the onslaught of intrusive questions her extended relatives have waiting for her.

The only person Peter hasn’t gotten an answer from is his own date.

“Dad! Bucky!” he shouts into the house when he gets home from school. He doesn’t get an answer, so he assumes neither are home from work yet and heads to the kitchen for a snack.

Johnny takes longer than usual to answer the phone, but the call connects a second before Peter decides to end it.

“Hey,” Johnny says.

“Hey,” Peter repeats, turning the speaker on and opening the fridge to survey what they have that is quick to prepare.

“How was your day?”

“Nailed my stats test, so the endless man hours I spent studying for it weren’t in vain, but I still feel cheated out of my time. Mr. Downey always amps up how difficult the tests are, but they’re never that bad and we fall for it every time! I don’t know what he’s trying to psych us out for, but it’s annoying,” Peter groans and settles on a green apple. “What about you? How was your day?”

“It was a’ight. Dugan had me backstocking all day and I guess he felt bad ‘cus he gave me the next two days off. Back is killing me.”

“Well, that was nice of him,” Peter mumbles over a tart bite of his apple. “Speaking of Dugan and days off, did you talk to him about letting you off for those December days?”

“For what?”

Peter hops over the back of the couch and lands on the cushions. “For my parents’ wedding,” he reminds him patiently. “Remember it’s on the twentieth and I was saying how we could spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square? I just need your RSVP so my Dad can stop freaking out over this seating chart.”

Johnny’s end is silent for such a while that Peter thought he hung up. He checks to see that the call is still connected and makes a weird noise when Johnny doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah, um, I’m here.”

“Oh, well, did you hear what I said? I got Michelle’s bus ticket for a day before so she has time to get settled. You don’t mind traveling with her, right? She’s—”

“Peter,” Johnny interrupts sternly. “I can’t.”

Peter stops chewing. “I know she’s _a_ _little_ irritating, but I’ll beg her to behave.”

“No, not about Michelle. I’m talking about coming up there. I, uh, don’t think I can.”

Peter swallows sharply and sits straight up. “You have to work, huh?”

“This doesn’t have to do with anything else but me. I can’t.”

 _That’s a cryptic thing to say._ “Can’t,” Peter tries the word out as if he’s never said it before. “What are you talking about, you can’t? Can’t what?”

“I can’t come up there.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Because if I go up there, I have to come back here and I can’t do that.”

Peter runs his hands through his hair and makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “Can you stop talking like some first century melancholic poet and just say what you mean? Why can’t you come up here? If it’s not something else holding you back then what’s going on?”

Johnny sighs quietly.  “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just say it.”

“I can’t come up there because—” He pauses again, maybe to gather his thoughts. “It’s gonna hurt to come back.”

One of Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay?”

“I see how it’s gonna go: I come up there, have a great time at the wedding, spend all holiday with you, and it’ll be fun up until the point I gotta say goodbye again and it’s gonna put me in a weird spot mentally. Doing what we’re doing is killing me, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t see you for a week and then be fine until we see each other again when it’ll just be easier to stay away altogether.”

It’s Peter’s turn to go silent as he takes in Johnny’s words, slowly realizing what is happening. Johnny keeps talking anyway.

“You were right. You were a thousand percent right, babe! This wasn’t meant to work because you and I are on completely different paths and I wish I could say I’m not some jealous dickhead who is very insecure about being apart, but I am.”

“Jealous of what?” Peter interrupts. “Is this about Harry?”

“Maybe a small part of it is,” Johnny admits. “You shouldn’t have to worry about little shit like posting pictures and hanging out with certain people because you’ve got some guy you had a summer romance with bothering you about it all the time.“

“Is that what you think I think we are? Is that what _you_ think we are?”

“No, of course not!” Johnny exclaims. “I’m just thinking right now isn’t _our_ time.”

“What's that even mean? Like, have you just been sitting there, plotting ways to break up with me?”

“Plotting? I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but I haven’t been plotting. I don’t suddenly not love you or anything like that, babe. It’s just this thing I’ve been feeling for a minute and in the long run, I think it’ll work out better for us.”

“Us?” Peter repeats. “You didn’t bother to ask me about what I think will work out for us.”

“Because I know you and I know how stubborn you are and you’d bat those damn eyes at me and I’ll get weak,” Johnny chuckles. “And, I’m not gonna lie, this is a little selfish, but your feelings aren’t the only ones who are gonna hurt.”

“Then why do it if you know it’s gonna hurt? Just come down and we’ll be fine. Everything will be fine, Johnny.”

“So you’re telling me it won’t hurt you to see me again and then have to say goodbye?”

“Shit, that’s usually how long distance relationships work.”

“Yeah, fine, but that’s not how _we_ work. Is it?” 

He has a point but Peter will never admit that, especially not now.

Peter’s bottom lip quivers. “Johnny,” he whines, holding back tears. “What can I do to just make whatever it is alright? I know there’s something.”

“You may not see it, but I’m holding you back,” Johnny answers. “It’s just not our time.”

“Well how do we know when it is? Why not right now, ya know?” he demands. “C’mon, my parents love you! I graduate in, like, six months and then I can be up there with you all the time so _no one_ is holding _anyone_ back! We could get our own place, work at Bucky’s shop together, get a puppy! I was looking at schools up there anyway and… and… I… we could—”

Peter stops himself when he hears the desperation in his voice. Johnny has made up his mind and there’s no changing it.

For Johnny to beg for Peter to make it work long distance just to switch around and say he doesn’t want to anymore is ironic and unfair to the worst degree.

And Peter has never been angrier.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Peter snaps. “If you were, you wouldn’t have done this to me again. You know how to just hurt me in the best way…” He sniffles. “And I keep letting you.”

“Do you hate me for this?”

“I want to,” Peter says honestly, guilt pouring down in overwhelming waves when he thinks about what happened with Harry. “But I can’t. I won’t.” 

“I want us to be a’ight. I wanna still talk and be normal.”

“Friends,” Peter supplies. “You wanna be friends.”

“If you want to be.”

Peter scoffs, still unbelieving that they’re even having this conversation. “It’s gonna take a while.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

Peter curls up on the cushion and rests his head on his knees. “I, uh, gotta go, Johnny.”

“Okay,” he says. “Um, shit, I guess just text me when you’re ready.”

Before either can say anything else, Peter ends the call and stares at his phone for an extensive amount of time.

He swallows past a large lump in his throat, waiting and hoping for his phone to ring and flash Johnny’s name to tell him it was all a big joke, he’s coming up next month for the wedding, and everything is fine.

It’s not, though.

Nothing is fine.

Everything hurts—it hurts _really bad._

It happened so quickly—too quickly—that Peter wasn’t even able to stop it. How long had Johnny been planning to break up with him? Was he waiting on the right time and Peter just offered it by asking about the wedding? Is this his fault? Is this karma for Harry?

He should’ve said something.

Peter closes his eyes, tears leaking ever so subtly down his cheeks. He’s definitely missed Johnny before, but now he’s desperate to be with him more than anything.

It doesn’t feel real that he won’t be able to anymore.

He couldn’t even tell Johnny that.

Peter sighs, holding himself close for another unnoted amount of time until the front door creaks open and Bucky trudges through the house and straight for the kitchen.

“Hey, Pete,” he says when he passes by the living room.

Peter wipes his face and sniffles quietly. “Hi, Bucky,” he croaks, struggling to make his voice sound normal. He should get up and go to his room to be alone, but he’s unable to move on account of being paralyzed with shock and his feet falling asleep.

“How was school?” Bucky asks, moving around the kitchen.

“Fine,” Peter mumbles. 

“That’s it? Just fine? You come in here everyday talking about how you halfway found the cure to cancer and today was just fine?” Bucky jokes, shutting the fridge and opening a beer.

Peter scoffs. “Yeah.”

He thinks that’s the end of the conversation, but Bucky enters the living room with the stealthiness of a jungle cat and watches the boy for a moment. He cocks his head thoughtfully, taking in the way Peter is curled into himself, the wetness of his cheeks, and the dissociated stare off into the room.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

Peter wipes his face again, clearing his throat to get his voice back. “Uh, Johnny can’t make it to the wedding. He, um, couldn’t get time off work and he really needs the hours.”

Bucky knows Peter is lying because Bucky made it his business to give Johnny those December days off specifically for the trip to Queens, but he doesn’t jump to call him out.

“Oh, man,” Bucky exhales. “I’m sorry to hear that, kid. Want me to talk to Dugan?”

“No, it’s fine. Johnny shouldn’t get any kind of special treatment ‘cus he’s dating the owner’s son or anything.”

Bucky nods and crosses his arms. “Michelle’s still coming, right?”

“Yeah.” Peter sniffles and turns his face just enough so Bucky won’t notice the stray tears rolling down his cheek. “She’s, uh, really excited.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Bucky mutters, leaning against the arm of the couch. “You’ll be alright?”

Peter can’t tell if it’s a question or statement at first, but he nods regardless. “I’m fine,” he says.

Even though he’s really not.

  
  


A week later, the seating chart is done and Harry has taken Johnny’s place not as Peter’s date, but as a simple plus one. Peter doesn’t tell anyone except Ned about the breakup, and he’s come to a point where he can think about it without crying.

At first, Peter feels guilty for unfollowing Johnny on all social media—especially when Johnny is still following him—but he feels better about it afterwards. He doesn’t do it maliciously, but he figures in order to get over Johnny, he needs to stop being reminded of him.

  
\--  


Thanksgiving is interesting, to say the least.

Tony agrees to host dinner at the Stark household since it wouldn’t be fair to make Peter or May choose whose house to go to. Steve assisting Pepper in the kitchen, Tony and Bucky bonding over the football game, and May playing with Harley in his playpen seems like something out of the twilight zone, but Peter watches it all from his spot on the sofa in awe. He’s waiting for the awkwardness to creep in at any moment, but there’s no sight of it right now.

It’s amicable that Steve and Tony got through their differences and maintained a cordial relationship, but Peter would be lying if he ever thought he’d see the day where his parents actually get along with each other’s side pieces.

The good mood continues throughout dinner, and it’s nice to be among immediate family in Queens in sweatpants rather than have to dress up and travel to be with racist, homophobic, and intrusive extended family. 

His family is weird, but Peter wouldn’t want it any other way.

  


After dinner, while Steve and Pepper bake desserts, Johnny sends Peter a text wishing him a happy Thanksgiving.

Peter reads the message over and over what feels like a million times. 

 _Same to you,_ he replies and then sets his phone down to continue playing with Harley.

  


**DECEMBER**

Thankfully, Steve and Bucky didn’t have to search for a videographer to shoot the wedding since Peter offered to do so.

The actual ceremony starts at four, but Steve and Bucky are up at the crack of dawn, showered, and already heading for the venue in Brooklyn before even Peter wakes up. When he does, he showers and hops on his bike to May’s house where Michelle and May are already awake, making breakfast and chuckling over Peter’s baby pictures in the dining room.

“Oh, c’mon, May,” he groans, rolling his eyes at the two of them. “Today of all days?”

“ _You’re_ not getting married,” Michelle reminds him and flips the page in the photo album.

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to make sure everything goes smoothly to not stress my parents out and baby pictures _aren’t_ a part of that.”

“Oh, this one is from Peter’s first birthday!” May exclaims, pointing over Michelle’s shoulder at a picture of a very chunky, giggly, one-year-old Peter covered in birthday cake. “Now my baby’s all grown. I could cry.”

“May.” Peter blushes, shooting her an embarrassed glance. “Not in front of Michelle.”

“I already know everything there is to know about you, Snuffleupagus,” she says with a wink and a smirk.

Peter rolls his eyes again. “May, you told her about that?”

May shrugs and retreats back into the kitchen. “She was curious.”

“Okay, for the record, I haven’t been call Snuffles in years and we’re not gonna start again now.” Peter shakes his head. “You guys are too alike to _ever_ hang out without supervision _ever_ again.”

“Your plate is ready, Snuffles,” May calls from the kitchen and Peter is way too hungry to let Michelle’s snickering stop him from answering to the nickname.

  


A few hours later, Peter, clad in a navy blue three-piece suit and white bow tie, patiently waits in the living room for May and Michelle as they get dressed. The camera is already rolling and pointed at the stairs when the floorboards creak and May comes downstairs all gussied up in a floor length metallic silver gown, silver jewelry, and her hair up in a fancy bun held together with shiny hair clips.

“Wow,” Peter gasps, staring at the shimmer and shine of the dress through the lens. “May, you look amazing. Like, you’re going to a movie premiere or something.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Absolutely, yeah. Where’d you even get this dress?”

“I’ve had this thing since before you were born. I wish I could remember.”

The floorboards begin creaking again, and Peter pans the camera towards the stairs to catch Michelle just as she descends the stairs.

Peter didn’t expect Michelle to own a dress— much less wear one—so his jaw is pretty much on the floor when he takes in the baby pink satin, asymmetrical ensemble she has on. The minimal details like her chrome pink nails, tiny gold hoop earrings, and a gold locket necklace do their part in pulling the entire look together. Her hair is in its naturally curly state except out of a ponytail and styled in a side part with a flower hair clip to keep it out of her face.

_Her face…_

She even has on makeup.

And heels. Very tall, white heels.

Peter swallows, hearts forming in his eyes. “Michelle, you look—“

“Don’t get all weird, okay?” she snaps, folding her arms over themselves awkwardly. “Don’t do that thing that always happens in movies where some tomboy puts on a dress and suddenly the oblivious male protagonist suddenly thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. I have sneakers in my bag and I promise once we’re done taking pictures, I’m putting them on.”

Peter grins sideways, zooming in on her pouted expression. “I was just gonna say you look really pretty, but you know I think you’re gorgeous anyway.”

Michelle attempts to hide her flattered smile behind a lip bite. “My mom got me this dress the second I told her I was going to this thing and refused to let me wear jeans and a Christmas sweater,” she explains and flutters her long eyelashes at the camera lens. “I guess it is nice to look like a princess _sometimes_.”

  


Peter, Michelle, and May make it to the venue by two o’clock. Peter films the decorations, the empty reception hall, and guests’ reactions as they first arrive and see the winter wonderland inspired decorations adorning the wedding hall. In between greeting people, he gathers B-roll footage of Bucky and Steve’s friends and families interacting with each other and taking their seats on either side of the aisle. Ned and Harry arrive together, enthusiastic to be attending. The professional photographer takes pictures around Peter, and Peter tries his hardest to not be annoyed by him.

Mama Barnes and Becca are some of the first to arrive with Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Peggy following closely behind. Tony, Pepper, and Harley show up in matching outfits and take their seats on Steve’s side of the aisle just minutes before the ceremony begins.

Instead of either of them walking down the aisle, Bucky and Steve meet each other at the altar halfway, standing on either side of the officiant. Steve has on an all-black suit with a white bow tie to offset Bucky’s all white getup with a black bow tie. Steve has a fresh faded haircut and Bucky’s hair is pulled back into a bun with loose tendrils of hair framing his face. He even has on a new pair of diamond studs.

All in all, they look really handsome and really happy.

The ceremony itself is about forty minutes, starting with the officiant welcoming and thanking everyone for attending. They transition to reading a word about the joy in love and uniting as a couple and right into exchanging personal vows. Peter gets from his seat in the audience to film in the middle of the aisle for better angles.

Steve braces himself with a knowing look into Bucky’s eyes as he gathers his thoughts. He’s staring at Bucky as if there’s no one else in the room, and Peter zooms in on the expression.

“You are everything I could’ve asked for in someone to spend the rest of my life with,” he starts, squeezing Bucky’s hands in his. “You are a blessing in every sense of the word. I wouldn’t have gotten through half the things I’ve been through if you weren’t by my side, and I could love you for that alone, but there’s a side to you no one gets to see—that’s what made me fall for you. Anyone who thinks they know you might say you’re some stoic jerk who never smiles and is covered in tattoos to look tough, but they don’t know your smile could light up a room and you have tattoos of your mom and sister. That side of you makes my heart skip a beat. My knees get weak and my hands get sweaty like I’m still some nervous wreck teenager again, and I’m ready to spend the rest of our lives in exploring that side of you, the different sides of us. You are the love of my life. I’m in love with you till the end of the line and maybe even beyond that.”

There’s random sniffling noises throughout the audience when Steve finishes. Peter muffles his own so the audio isn’t picked up on camera. In all his seventeen years, he’s never seen his Dad so in love with someone and that is a whole influx of tears in and of itself.

Bucky appears to be fighting tears too, but he works through them when he whispers something to Steve too low for anyone to hear. Steve nods his head at whatever Bucky says and gives his husband an encouraging smile.

Bucky goes in his pocket to pull out a wrinkled folded piece of paper. “I had to write this down,” he explains absently and begins reading. “Steve. Everybody knows I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen, and yeah, it’s a little pathetic that I pined for so long without saying anything, but I suppose I get the last laugh because I get to stand before you today and vow myself to you for forever and eternity. If I’m honest, I never imagined I’d get the opportunity to even tell you how I feel about you, much less marry you.” His voice cracks on the last few words but he clears his throat and nervously keeps reading.

“You make me the happy in ways I didn’t know were possible by just being you. There’s nothing I don’t love about you. Even though you’re the most stubborn punk I’ve ever met, _there’s nothing I don’t love about you_. You always see the bright side whenever there’s a storm. You make those around you laugh when they wanna cry. You have an energy about you that makes you unreal and it’s unreal that you’re mine.”

“Oh, jeez.” Steve snickers nervously, a blush rushing to his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to sound so corny,” Bucky says offhandedly, folds the paper and puts it back in his pocket. “But if you can’t be a fucking lovesick loser on your wedding day, when can you, I guess?”

Peter films the crowd’s reactions, and there’s an assortment of sniffles and crying. Mama Barnes and Bucky have matching glares for the entire room when the officiant asks if anyone has any objections.

Steve and Bucky exchange wedding bands and never break eye contact as they slide the rings onto each other’s fingers with dopey grins. Everybody is on their feet, clapping, cheering, and whistling when Bucky cups Steve’s chin to bring him in for a tender, close mouthed kiss.

Peter manages to get a high resolution shot of the tiny, smushed smiles against their lips.

  
  


The reception takes place two floors down from where the ceremony was, making for an easy transition of guests. Peter stands by the door to catch more reactions to the winter themed atmosphere as everyone enters the reception hall.

He takes a short break from actively filming to eat, hang out with his friends, pose for pictures, and talk to his relatives. The playlist he and his parents put together is perfect for the setting and everyone is dancing early on in the evening. Michelle, as promised, puts on her sneakers after posing for pictures to join Peter, Harry, Ned, and some of Peter’s extended family members on the dance floor.

After a dance or two, he turns the camera back on to film guests congratulate Steve and Bucky, just as Clint had in Tony and Steve’s wedding video. By this point, nearly everyone is tipsy from the open bar which makes for great content as they scream and shout about how happy they are for the couple.

An hour into the party, Sam drunkenly toasts to the happy couple and announces their first dance. The floor clears and everyone scatters off to the sides to make room for Steve and Bucky as they walk hand in hand to the middle of the room.

“I love this song,” Michelle comments wistfully as “Linger” by The Cranberries begins to play over the surround sound speakers. “Why’d they pick this one? It’s not exactly lovey-dovey.”

“I asked Bucky and he said this song was really popular at the time he fell for my Dad, and at the time that’s how he felt. Real cheesy, but it’s cute, I guess,” Peter explains, standing from the table. “Be right back!”

Peter crouches low in front of the onlooking crowd to get a unique shot of his parents wrapped around each other, swaying to the soft beat of the song. They’re staring at each other like there’s no one else in the room with them as they sing the lyrics back and forth.

They looks so happy, and for once, it’s _not_ bittersweet to watch. Peter is genuinely happy that his Dad is with the right person because he _wants_ to be and not because he feels like he _has_ to be.

Steve and Bucky share a few kisses as the song fades out and there’s a brief applause before the rest of the crowd returns to the dance floor for another slow dance.

Everyone pairs up with a partner and begins dancing, finding spots on the dance door to just sway. Peter lowers the camera because something feels weird about filming everyone in the arms of someone else.

Johnny flashes in his mind for a split second.

He would’ve really enjoyed this.

Peter resigns to his table and tries not to feel any particular way about it.

  


As the night begins to die down, Steve and Bucky cut the cake and smash pieces in each other’s faces. Guests begin leaving at about nine with wedding favors, and the happy couple thanks them for coming. 

Peter has all the footage he wants, so he spends the remainder of the time eating cake and hanging out with his friends. He tries to not check social media—because he knows Johnny is liking the pictures of the night that Peter has uploaded to Instagram—and stays engaged with his company the best he can.

  


So to give Steve and Bucky their space, Peter goes back to May’s with Michelle and helps her pack for her morning trip back upstate. She must notice his attitude shift because she regards him with an uncharacteristically sad look and a empathetic pull of her lips.

“What?” he asks, looking up from her practically empty makeup bag to meet her gaze. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

She shakes her head absently and looks down at her overnight bag. “Just wanted to say thanks for inviting me tonight,” she exhales, removing the hair clip and tossing it on the bed. “I’d be a huge idiot to not wanna go.”

Peter side eyes her and shrugs, vaguely catching onto what she’s getting at. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agrees, zipping the makeup bag closed. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t like idiots, though.”

Michelle considers this. “Are you gonna be okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

When it comes to matters of the heart, Peter will be. He always finds his way to being okay.

  


After getting home from seeing Michelle off at the bus station, Peter sits down at his desk and opens his laptop to start editing the wedding footage. It takes a total of three hours to finish, but he’s satisfied with the end result.

 

 

**_A Film by Peter Stark._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr - karenthesuitlady


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